


Stolen King

by BlueMonkey, SebastianStan



Category: Vikings (TV), Warcraft (2016)
Genre: Crossover, Eventual Smut, First Time, Getting Together, Language Barrier, Lothar has a ridiculously fluffy bed, Lothar is possessive, M/M, Magic, Threesome - M/M/M, smug bastards, spell gone wrong
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 06:54:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 28,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8134396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueMonkey/pseuds/BlueMonkey, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SebastianStan/pseuds/SebastianStan
Summary: "You're sure this will work?" Lothar questions.Khadgar gives him an innocent look. His hands are already outstretched in front of him, ready to cast the spell. If they are going to continue to fight the orcs who are still scattered over Azeroth, they are going to need help. He found a spell that is supposed to summon a being of equal or greater strength and wit. The description is a bit vague, but it is all they have to go on for the moment, and they can’t afford to waste time.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> An ongoing RP between me and BlueMonkey.
> 
> A few things to note:
> 
>   * I know very little on the specifics of mage magics (other than they can't heal) so bear with me on anything Khadgar does. For the sake of the fic, just go with it =3=
>   * In this fic, Llane is still alive but both Medivh and Callan are dead. The events of the movie have happened, we just wanted Llane to still be king instead of Lothar being Regent yet.
>   * Ragnar is speaking Norwegian because I could not find a reliable source to translate to Old Norse
> 

> 
> Also a huge thanks to Teldrassils for translating! Translations will be in the end notes.

There is a flash of bright light, a crash, and then a world of pain.

He smashes into a table. It must be a table, at least, although it is solid and heavy, with curved edges and littered with materials that he doesn't recognize; a book falls open next to him with scribbles he cannot read.

Gone is the shore on which he stood a second ago. Instead, as his eyes flit about quickly and he reaches for his axe, he takes a quick look of his new surroundings. Or as much as he can, for the stone-walled room has erupted into chaos. Someone dressed in strange clothes is standing in front of him, and he thinks there may be a fire spreading from where the hearth used to be. The smell of sulphur hangs in the air.

So he quickly gets his feet under him. _"Hvem er du?"_ he demands.

***

"You're sure this will work?" Lothar questions.

Khadgar gives him an innocent look. His hands are already outstretched in front of him, ready to cast the spell. If they are going to continue to fight the orcs who are still scattered over Azeroth, they are going to need help. He found a spell that is supposed to summon a being of equal or greater strength and wit. The description is a bit vague, but it is all they have to go on for the moment, and they can't afford to waste time.

"Yes," he replies, though he does not sound very reassured. If this blows up in their faces, Lothar will put all the blame on him. But seeing as Lothar has next to no experience with magic, Khadgar is aware that Lothar also has to just trust that he knows what he is doing.

He utters a string of ancient words. A flash of light nearly blinds them and soon suddenly finds them with a man crashing down onto the war table. He is huge; not as large by orc standards, but larger than the average human. The stranger looks brutish and clearly disoriented by the way he stares about the place and holds his axe threateningly. Lothar and Khadgar both look back at him, stunned, when the man turns. He looks strikingly familiar.

Khadgar is the first to come out of his stupor when the man speaks. "Uh, my name's Khadgar. I'm the one who summoned you. What is your name?"

The stranger looks at them for a long time. Something calculating flashes in his eyes. He does not answer though, his hand still on the axe as he steals glances at the expanse of table under him and the details of the room.

Beneath him is a clear, three-dimensional representation of terrain. It completely outweighs his own now clumsy attempts at strategy that involve drawing maps in wet sand with a stick. A higher civilization, the stranger gathers. He wonders why he was brought here—the two men who look back at him expectantly obviously mean no harm, or they would have done something already—and if there is a chance that the place can be taken.

But he makes no assumptions that he will get to conquer a mighty keep like this on his own, tonight, with only his axe. He would need a cunning plan. After his head stops spinning from the crash, that is. A wave of nausea suddenly hits him, and he crumbles to his knees. The hexagonal blocks making up a mountain pass on the war table under him make way.

He does not understand a word of what the men in the room are saying. So he pushes himself up, tucks his axe away, and he thumps his chest armor. "Ragnar. Ragnar Lothbrok." Then he points it at them. _"Du?"_

A hand on his chest stops Khadgar from rushing over to the man upon his collapse. Lothar gives him a calculating look and shakes his head. Khadgar understands that they should wait. This man could very well be dangerous even if he has been summoned here to help.

They wait until the man stands again, a little less steady on his feet, but still intimidating enough. There is something off about him. Khadgar is not quite sure what it is, but then he has just performed a powerful spell he has never done before. Unless the description is very clear, he can never really tell what a new spell is going to do. Or how to specify what to summon.

Khadgar glances at Lothar, who is still completely fixed on the stranger. He hardly even blinks, staring the man down like he is trying to gauge an enemy—Lothar is hostile. Khadgar can already tell he is probably going to have to play peacekeeper between them.

"Khadgar." He says more firmly, pressing a hand to his own chest. The mage is getting the feeling the man knows little of the common language. "And this is Lothar, Anduin Lothar."

"Anduin Lothar." Ragnar sizes them both up. "Khadgar?"

They keep a safe distance, he notices; although they may not be enemies, they are also not sure whether that makes them allies, either. He gets the sinking feeling that the reason why he is here is a side-effect of something that was supposed to turn out differently. And that, he dreads it might not be so easy to go back to where he came from. His home.

He does not know where to start. But Ragnar is nothing if not pragmatic, and he gestures in the direction of the hearth to point out that, though it might have slipped their notice, the rug is alight. _"Flamme,"_ he adds.

The one with the longer hair and the broad build keeps looking at him when he gets off the table, kicks over a few figurines by accident and places them back with care. _"Der."_ Pleased with himself, he grins broadly at Lothar. _"Bedre._ _Nå, kan noen fortelle meg hva det er jeg gjør her?"_

Khadgar turns to look where Ragnar points. The fire is thankfully small, and takes a few words and a quick wave of his hand, for Khadgar to quench the fire.

Lothar continues to watch as the man gets off the table. He is not ready to trust him out of his sight. Khadgar may have been able to summon him, but something is off about this Ragnar.

"You were summoned to help fight beasts called orcs that are encroaching on our lands," he speaks up. His voice is less friendly than Khadgar's.

Ragnar just stares at him, mouth twisted up in a mock smile. _"Jeg er enig. Du burde vise meg resten av dette stedet,"_ he says. He has no idea what they are talking about, but he can't allow them to see how out of his element he is. To do that is to admit defeat. For some reason, he has strong feelings against admitting defeat opposite this man—more so than the younger one, at least, whom he can't keep his eyes off as soon as Khadgar moves the fire with only a few words.

Ragnar forgets Lothar immediately. He walks up to Khadgar and points at his hands.

That's when he sees the boy's eyes.

Lothar tenses up immediately. He is ready to fight and protect if he needs to. Not a word the man has just said makes sense, but he definitely does not like the fixation with Khadgar.

Yet the mage is oblivious to his struggle. His eyes focus on Ragnar as well, seeing the confusion and fascination on his face when the man points to his hands from which arcane light is fading.

Khadgar follows his gaze. He is almost as confused, himself. Surely this man has seen magic before; why would the spell send him someone that has no experience with or around such a craft? He vows to go back and study that particular section and figure out what has gone wrong, but for now Khadgar does not have the confidence to send the man back.

"It's, uh, magic. Arcane, see." He lets a bit of the arcane flow to his hands, creating a ball of light to show.

The display, trivial as it is, astonishes Ragnar. Blue light reflects in his eyes. He reaches a hand out to touch a spark, though he withdraws as soon as his fingertips come into contact, expecting pain.

None comes.

"Hey," Lothar pushes between them suddenly. He takes Khadgar's hands and moves them down, anyway. The light dissipates. "Be careful," he says, his back unfortunately towards Ragnar; it means he ends up looking over his shoulder constantly. "I do not trust him."

"He's not going to hurt us, Lothar." Khadgar huffs, extracting his hands from Lothar's grip. "And even if he tries, I can just trap him against the wall."

Lothar is hardly convinced, but between the two of them they can probably take Ragnar down. Or at least incapacitate him long enough to find help. He can tell that this situation is going beyond what they had intended the summoning to give.

He lets Khadgar move away but keeps himself between him and Ragnar just to be safe. "Fine. What do you suppose we do with him? Clearly he isn't fit to fight alongside us if we can't understand each other."

Ragnar lets them talk as he takes a step back. And another. Obviously he has done something that Lothar disagrees with. But then, he is quickly getting the feeling that Lothar does not agree with much of anything; the man has been giving him nothing but angry looks. And given that it is Ragnar who has been yanked from his home, in the midst of planning for the summer raids, he thinks that the distrust on his behalf is more than a little unfair.

So as they talk in their strange language, he allows himself to wander. He picks at books, browses through some of them to find anything he can relate to. There is a pair of decorative swords on the wall from which he extracts one, taps a finger against the blade and grins when he grasps of the power in the perfectly forged weapon.

In fact, they seem to be distracted enough for him to slip out the door. It takes but a moment before he is off, his hand again on his axe as he slinks through the shadows of the unfamiliar keep.

By the gods, the corridors stretch on for longer than they should. Great stained glass windows allow in an almost ethereal light. Might there be more magic, he wonders. Other miracles?

Guards watch him with their hands on their swords when he passes. He nods, as if he belongs here, and saunters on. _Pretend like you are not afraid of anything_ , he tells himself. _You are not. And one day all of this will be yours._

Khadgar shrugs, not sure about what they should do with the situation. He hasn't planned on the spell sending them a strange man rather than a powerful creature or spirit. He doesn't know what they can do. Seeing as the man is foreign and unfamiliar with their lands, they can't leave him in an inn like they would any regular guest.

Lothar sighs, frustrated by Khadgar's answer and turns to look at the man, only to find that he is not there. In fact, he isn't anywhere in the room. Lothar turns back to Khadgar. "He has run off."

They stare at each other for a good few seconds before rushing out of the room. Ragnar is nowhere in sight and Lothar looks to the nearest guard, ordering him to find a man wandering around with an axe. The guard flees down one hall, informing other guards of the situation, while the two of them go down another. "I can't believe you let him out of your sight." Lothar growls.

"I had him in my sight until you interfered," Khadgar mutters back. There is no bite behind it. None of this is going the way it should, but worst is Lothar turning on him. Lothar was the one who had to jump between them when the stranger showed a hint of interest in Khadgar's magic; if anything, it is his stubbornness that has caused this mess. But Khadgar does not want to fight. "Look, I'll find a way to send him back," he promises. "In the meantime, if we find him, he will be my responsibility. I got him here. It was my idea."

 _That's an even worse idea_ , Lothar thinks. He didn't trust the man before and thinking of Khadgar spending even more time with this stranger gives him an even worse feeling of distrust. "I won't leave you alone with this responsibility. Even if it is mostly your fault."

It turns out that Ragnar is not a hard man to find. They catch him in front of the doors to the throne room; a circle of six guards surround him to prevent him from going inside. Khadgar groans. Tomorrow all of Stormwind is going to know about this. He can do without another round of disapproving looks from the Council, if he is honest. They do not need another reason to think less of him.

Lothar is relieved when they find Ragnar amongst a circle of guards; less than pleased to see him in front of the throne room.

"What do you suppose we do with him? I say he should go in a cell."

Khadgar rolls his eyes at him and pushes forward. He breaches the small circle and regards Ragnar with as much disappointment as he can muster up. It seems that for now they will have to depend on body language to get their point across. "Come," he says, stretching out his hand. Khadgar doesn't actually want Ragnar to take it. He bites his lip as eyes are burning into him from behind.

But Ragnar seems to understand. He makes a gesture that suggests admiring the place—his interest is honest and unharmful, he assures. His only weapon hangs off his hip where it takes the guards less time to skewer him than for him to reach for it, but he raises his empty hands regardless. No danger, he implies.

He comes along willingly. Khadgar however doesn't intend to take him to a cell. Not one as hostile as that, anyway. But there certainly is going to be a lock on the door until they figure out whether they can trust this man. "Food?" he suggests, and makes an expression as if he is eating on something.

He feels rather dumb with six of Lothar's guards staring at his back.

"Food?" Lothar repeats incredulously.

"Well, until I can find a way to send him back, he is technically our guest. We can't just throw him in a cell; he hasn't done anything wrong." Khadgar leads them to the kitchens, hoping that Ragnar might find the atmosphere there better than a formal dining room.

"I wonder if I could find a spell that could help him understand," he mutters to himself as they walk.

Lothar is still unhappy but follows them anyway, the prospect of food just slight enough make him less focused on the stranger's situation.

As it turns out, the size and splendor of the kitchen, too, bring Ragnar to a stop. It is almost too much. Nothing reminds him of home, except for the fact that it is air he is breathing, although it does not smell of the salty sea, or the wet cold from past winter. For the first time in years, he feels almost filthy when he walks these strange halls.

No blood washes off a counter where meat was prepared, and the cleavers are clean as if they were forged only days ago. The kitchen is speckless.

So for now Ragnar allows these two strangers, whom he can't quite work out, to lead him to a chair. He does not eat until they show him that it is not poisoned, but other than that he just watches. He has no idea what else to do. Is he expected to stay?

Most of the time, his gaze flits between that of his two kidnappers.

Finally, when it is on Khadgar, Lothar clears his throat. Ragnar reaches for a loaf of bread, tears into it, and shifts his focus to the taller man instead. _"Ja?"_

"Think you can get that language spell going anytime soon?" Lothar looks at the man but his words are for Khadgar. "I don't recognize anything he's saying." Being in such high standing with Stormwind, he is familiar with several languages throughout Azeroth; whatever Ragnar is speaking is definitely nothing he has ever heard before.

Despite his unfriendliness toward Ragnar he can tell a man who likes meat when he sees one and nods to a platter of fresh boar. He takes a piece for himself, figuring that if words can't get across at least for the moment, maybe the food can talk for them.

Their guest mimics him, although he fails horribly at the use of cutlery—or more precisely, simply doesn't bother to try. Khadgar is drawn to the display of savagery. "He's like Garona," he realizes. "Not an orc, I mean. Obviously not an orc." He promptly stuffs his mouth with bread. He can feel Ragnar's eyes on him. When Khadgar has finally gotten that down, the subject is easier changed. "I am not sure there is a spell that can help us understand. I will look into it. In the meantime, you should probably find him a place to stay."

Lothar may have been harsh on Khadgar more than once, but he can't deny that he likes seeing him get flustered. Especially over the simplest things. It is cute.

Less than cute is the thought of being alone with Ragnar while Khadgar pours over even more books. It is strange to look at him. Ragnar seems so similar and frankly, that scares him. Lothar can see the way he watches Khadgar with fascination. Is that how he looks at the mage?

"Perhaps he should just stay in one of our rooms? There are enough guards to make sure he doesn't wander off again," he picks at his food, averting his eyes so he doesn't have to look into Khadgar's. "You can stay with me, in case an issue arrives that needs both of our attention." He says it nonchalantly. _So I can keep an eye on you, and he can't_ , goes unsaid.

Khadgar nearly knocks over the milk.

"Stay with you?" He doesn't think Lothar is joking. His words make sense. It is just—Khadgar's mind is shutting down. He has summoned a stranger, someone they know nothing about, and Lothar wants to give him Khadgar's room. Which is, he is reminded, perhaps not as bad as a room that has weapons hanging on the wall. And hasn't he wondered before how Lothar's bed would be with that impossible amount of animal furs? Still.

"You mean, he sleeps in my bed. And where would I sleep?" _In yours?_

He is glad that for now, Ragnar leaves them be. The stranger studies them intently, likely thinking of questions of his own. And Khadgar longs to talk to him. There is so much knowledge there, he thinks. Possibly even for Lothar.

But the next time Khadgar checks if he is still eating and not plotting to run off again, he finds the man watching him with his head tipped sideways and the most curiously piercing expression upon his features. Khadgar ducks his head. "He looks a bit like you," he says.

"My bed is big enough for the both of us," Lothar blurts out without thinking. He almost immediately regrets it, clearing his throat and piling more food on his plate. "I've slept on less with other soldiers out on patrol," he adds quickly.

He chances a glance over at Khadgar, seeing just the faintest hint of a blush. It is beautiful on him against the pale skin and dark hair. Lothar imagines whether, if his own features were less than they are, would sport an own blush just as striking. But it has been a long time since he was young and bright, and easily flattered by a crush.

He is broken from his thoughts when Khadgar speaks again. He takes in the words, looking back at Ragnar to see him still staring at his mage. It still makes him uneasy. "Yes. It's rather odd seeing my face walk around on someone else's body though."

"Not your face," Khadgar laughs. _I like yours better_ , he almost adds. It is easier to think about the stranger than about Lothar's bed. It is only morning—what will he do with that knowledge all day? Although nothing is going to happen, because it never does, the idea is enough to give him an edge of nervousness already. "But it's strange that out of everyone, it is him we got. He is clearly from another world." Between a sip to calm himself down and a careful smile back at the stranger who keeps watching him, he says, "I've heard theories about other worlds. You could be connected to him. It wouldn't be a far stretch."

Lothar looks to Ragnar, studying their similarities and searching for their differences. Where Ragnar smirks at him, Lothar scowls. Yes, of all people, it is odd that this man would come to them, but the more he thinks about Khadgar's words, the more he wonders.

If there is some sort of connection between them, maybe there are others, those like Llane or Medivh…or Callan. Is there another Khadgar? The thought sends a shiver down his spine. But even if there are, Lothar knows his heart only belongs to the one.

"You should get started on that spell, so we can ask him about his world. I'm rather curious if there could be others like us where he's from."

 _"If_ there is a spell," Khadgar points out. He glances at Ragnar. "I hope there is. Imagine all the things we could talk about. He is carrying a weapon, so he is a warrior at least. And his language is strange. It doesn't sound like anything I know."

Ragnar allows them to talk. He is alert as always. Still, Khadgar can see that the events of only an hour have begun to wear him down. What if in his world, it is night? And how much energy took being summoned on his side?

He quickly finishes up the last of his breakfast and gets up. "I will be fast," he tries to promise. Then he is off, reluctant to leave the two men alone but knowing that the faster he finds something of help, the shorter that time will be.

This leaves Ragnar alone with Lothar. And Ragnar's smirk freezes a little.

Lothar isn't fond of how interested Khadgar is over Ragnar and his world. It's a perfectly reasonable subject to be fascinated by; a chance to learn about a new world, a new culture. Of course this would excite the mage. But Lothar doesn't like to share, and certainly not with someone so similar to himself.

Khadgar may not be his. Still he has become a bit possessive of the mage ever since they fought together in Karazhan. He expected to have more time to sort his feelings out, but he is not going to let this newcomer get in his way of claiming his mage first.

But how is he supposed to deal with this man by himself without coming across as hostile? Though a part of him wants to be, if only to get the point across, that Ragnar had better not mess with either of them. He takes a quick glance around them to make sure no one, especially Khadgar, is close enough to hear. "Don't get any funny ideas." He says, turning back to Ragnar and narrowing his eyes.

Unnervingly, Ragnar coolly returns the look. They can't communicate, so although he can guess at Lothar's frustration, he can also ignore that it's there.

Besides, this man is fascinating.

It is only them, when he reaches for his axe and puts it on the table in front of him. Then he pushes it towards Lothar. _"Denne er min,"_ he says. _"Jeg fikk den smidd. Jeg graverte den. Tauet rundt håndtaket er en suvenir fra den første fienden som jeg drepte med den."_ They are words with a history, poorly conveyed but no less meaningful. Here, Ragnar really says. Now I am no longer a threat to you.

Lothar looks from the weapon to Ragnar in confusion. He can't understand a word the man is saying but he assumes it is about the axe. It looks well forged if a bit small than what Lothar's seen before, though he's partial to swords himself.

He moves slow, reaching a hand out and keeping an eye on Ragnar as he picks up the axe. He tests the weight and admires the curve of the blade. No matter his standings with anyone, Lothar will always appreciate a good weapon.

"It's good," he says. "Maybe, if you can prove yourself, I'd like to duel you on the training grounds. See how strong you really are."

He sets the axe back down between them, and makes a note to show Ragnar some real weapons later on. If he stays long enough for Lothar to know whether he can be trusted with that kind of access.

The axe stays on the table after that. Ragnar finishes his meal and wipes his hands on the tablecloth. He looks around once more when Lothar is still eating.

He doesn't know where the patience comes from. His people are missing their king. If this takes much longer, Ragnar might return to find his title taken by another. The young magician who had been easy on the eye has however left them, much to both their displeasure.

"Khadgar," he asks, gestures to Lothar, and then links his own two hands. That must leave no space for misinterpretations, he thinks. _"Er han partneren din?"_

Lothar watches the grasp, not entirely sure what Ragnar means but getting the gist of it. He only hopes his answer will not come back to bite him.

"Yes. Though not entirely. I intend to make him mine soon, so if you want to be on my good side, I suggest you stay away."

He's unsure if his point gets across, so he says Khadgar's name firmly then presses a hand to his chest. "Mine."

Ragnar inclines his head. _"Du er en heldig mann."_ He pushes his plate forward and looks around for ale or the like. Obviously he is not expected to go anywhere, or he would have gotten up and minded his own business. But the way they have followed him tells him enough; though they haven't got him in chains, he is still their prisoner. "Khadgar," he says again, and points at the door, _"Hvor er han?"_

Lothar looks to where he's pointing, seeing the door. He nods mostly to himself as he puts together what Ragnar is asking.

"He went to see if he could find a way to get us to communicate better." Lothar gestures with his hands in the form of a book opening. He suspects that Ragnar isn't a man of many books but he points back to the door and motions for him to follow as he gets up.

He picks up two pints of ale. One is handed to Ragnar as they exit the kitchens and head to the library. He doesn't want to show Ragnar where Khadgar spends most of his time, but Lothar too is curious whether the mage can actually find a spell to help them or got himself distracted by other books. As he has done before.

This time, Ragnar follows him. He once pinches the bridge of his nose—sleep is kicking in, for some reason, and he has to force himself to stay awake. It is much easier to be given a tour of the place rather than to go on his own and find himself under the suspicion of the castle guards.

They wind down one flight of stairs, a few turns. By the time they stop in front of great doors, Ragnar has lost his way back already. Clever, he thinks. He follows behind Lothar into the darker chamber, only to be amazed at what he finds.

It is his first time in an actual library; the only thing that has ever come close has been a monastery. He has heard stories, of course. But this, rows upon rows of books of any subject imaginable—he may not read, but he can understand illustrations—is beyond his ability to comprehend. Ragnar's mouth falls open.

Perhaps, he thinks, staying here is not quite so bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Hvem er du? -Who are you?
> 
> Du? -You?
> 
> Flamme -Flame/Fire
> 
> Der -There
> 
> Bedre. Nå, kan noen fortelle meg hva det er jeg gjør her? -Better. Now, can anyone tell me what am I doing here?
> 
> Jeg er enig. Du burde vise meg resten av dette stedet. - I agree. You should show me the rest of this place.
> 
> Ja? -Yes?
> 
> Denne er min. Jeg fikk den smidd. Jeg graverte den. Tauet rundt håndtaket er en suvenir fra den første fienden som jeg drepte med den. -This is mine. I had it forged. I engraved it. the rope around the handle is a token from the first enemy I killed with it.
> 
> Er han partneren din? -He is your partner?
> 
> Du er en heldig mann. -You are a lucky man.
> 
> Hvor er han? -Where has he gone?


	2. Chapter 2

"Lothar!" calls a familiar voice.

Several robed men hush Khadgar, but the boy grins as he appears, carrying a book that is almost as big as his chest. "I found it. Well, I found _something_. Actually," he keeps talking in one breath, "it only mentions languages from Azeroth. But if anything should work, this is it. Could you—?" and he dumps the heavy tome in Lothar's arms, blows out air, and smiles. "Thanks."

Lothar is oblivious to Ragnar's amazement, more focused on how cute Khadgar looks while carrying around such a large book. He had no idea the library even had books that size. Of course, it is not like he spends as much time in the library as the mage does.

He nearly loses his balance when Khadgar dumps the book in his hands though, surprised by the weight of it. "Light," he wheezes, readjusting it in his arms. "What is this made of? Iron?"

He nearly forgets Ragnar behind him while he watches Khadgar move about the library. Lothar glances behind him to catch the other man checking out the space around him, touching the spines of books with a surprisingly light touch. It almost reminds him of when Khadgar first stepped into the royal library, but with less excitement and rambling about how much knowledge is stored here.

Lothar moves to set the book down on a nearby table. He wonders why Khadgar handed it to him in the first place, but dismisses it as one of Khadgar's quirks. The mage has many that can hardly be explained by common sense. It's one of the reasons Lothar likes him, he supposes. "So, you think it'll work? It's getting a bit tiring trying to charade my way through a conversation with him."

Khadgar laughs—the mages hush him again, not understanding how monumental this moment is—and shrugs. He honestly doesn't know. Opening the tome and browsing to the third bookmark between the pages, he opens on a spread with a number of illustrations, and enough notes on slips of paper to give away that he might have some suggestions here or there. Nothing big; just some improvements on pronunciation.

"Right," he points at a paragraph illustrated by a circular seal that looks fancier to the untrained eye than it is, really. "This is an enchantment. That's important, because it means it is going to wear off. If it works, it will only work for a few hours. After that, I'd have to perform the spell again. I mean, it isn't a very difficult spell. Actually, it's remarkably easy. You just—" he looks up at two men staring at him as if they both do not speak his language, "—let's go somewhere we don't bother anyone, okay? The war room?" It has already suffered some damage, after all. "Lothar? Can you carry this for me?"

Lothar hardly ever understands a word Khadgar says when he speaks about magic and spells, but that doesn't mean he likes hearing him speak about it any less. The excitement and joy he sees on the mage's face is enough to keep his interest even if he tries not to show it.

He makes a show of being annoyed about having to carry the book all the way back to the war room, but he only does it to hide how much he really doesn't mind doing things for Khadgar. It must be that deeply hidden primal instinct that makes him want to show off his strength in front of another, to prove his worth to the mage. Even if all he's doing is carrying a book.

"Let's just hope he isn't stuck here for the rest of his life," he says with a glance at Ragnar. "I'm sure he wants to get back to his own world as much as I want him to go back." The book is deposited on an even patch of surface of the war table. Lothar looks back between Khadgar and Ragnar. "I doubt he'll be of any use now in fighting off the orcs. We'll have to find another to gain some help once this mess is over."

Ragnar watches him, then Khadgar, and then him again. Lothar, he understands now, has not been honest. He is looking at the younger man like he is his universe, and although Khadgar does seems neither entirely oblivious nor uninterested, he never quite reciprocates like a lover would.

Odd.

He is given no warning when he's dragged back to the room in which he was pulled into this world, and he is sure, he is sure that now is the time they send him back to his own world. Part of him feels sad about that. There is much in the castle that he has not seen yet, and much to learn.

Khadgar tries to tell him something, pointing at intricate illustrations in golds and the brightest reds. But Ragnar does not understand, and so his eyes flick about nervously as he edges back when Khadgar once again begins on a spell.

The air grows heavy with something new. _"Hva er det du gjør?"_ he asks. Something swirls around his limbs and under his skin. Not intrusively, but it is still rather unsettling for the fact that it goes under his skin. _"Khadgar?"_ he says again, firmer. _"Stop dette nå. Hører du meg? Jeg sa stop dette nå."_

Already his hand shifts to the axe. He will if he has to.

At first, Lothar finds it amusing when Ragnar is confused by the magic swirling in the air. _Not so fascinated now, are we?_ he thinks. That is, until he sees him reaching for his axe.

He tenses, reaching for a weapon that isn't there. Damn himself for thinking they would be safe within the keep. "Whatever you're doing, do it faster. I don't think he likes being tampered with." He watches with wide eyes as the light disappears into Ragnar and suddenly he can hear him calling out, "—stop this now."

Khadgar ends the spell as quickly and safely as he can. He is smiling from ear to ear. The spell has, admittedly, been somewhat of an experiment. Not that he will ever tell either of them that. It worked, that's the important part. "Can you understand me?" he asks.

It could still only work one way. But Ragnar lowers his axe. He does not tuck it away, though it is no longer threatening. He has had his share of magic being forced onto him for the day. "I hear you," he says, careful and confused. "You used magic again."

He is still here, then. In the keep. Without this cumbersome limitation. "Why did you not send me back?"

Lothar looks on, surprised that the spell worked, while Khadgar smiles, wildly pleased by his accomplishment. His excitement however dies down when Ragnar speaks again. "Uh, well," he stammers, "you see…when I brought you here, I didn't exactly know where I was pulling you from." Khadgar looks down in guilt. "I'm unsure at the moment how to send you back to your proper world."

"We can figure it out another time. What's important now is that we can finally understand you." Lothar jumps in to save Khadgar from embarrassment.

"Yes," Ragnar concedes, though suddenly overwhelmed by the feeling of being cut off from his own home. "I will go back at some later point." The words are only half hopeful. He brushes that aside for now. With a nod and an inclination of his head, he might as well make the best of it. The military might and construction skills of the people who have snatched him away from his old life are things to learn from.

Then there are these two people.

"I am Ragnar Lothbrok," he figures he might as well introduce himself again. "King of Norway, if there are titles you need from me." Maybe he only says that to play on their guilt. And he does appreciate how the magician squirms; Ragnar keeps his eyes trained on the youth. "You have taken me away in the midst of preparations for the summer raids. The ships are packed and ready to sail, but without a commander…"

"I am Anduin Lothar, Commander of Stormwind's army. And Khadgar is the Guardian mage," Lothar replies, giving their own titles. He's a bit surprised to find the man is actually a King, but he's never heard of this place called Norway. He supposes that being from another world would do that.

It is hard to imagine Ragnar a king looking as ragged and brutish as he is. Llane never had a hair out of place.

Khadgar tries to hide his own surprise at being named the Guardian. Although he has been the one to defeat Medivh, it has never been discussed or concluded that he is to inherit the title. There is still a lot he has to learn; he has never truly finished his training, but then being a Guardian doesn't mean you ever stop learning.

He turns his attention back to Ragnar, relieved that they understand each other now. "I'm sorry this happened at such an important time for you. I swear I will do all I can to find a way to send you back. Maybe I can find something in Karazhan…" He trails off, trying to remember if he had seen something in the library before that would help.

"You speak of places I've not heard of," points out Ragnar. He hops up on the war table and pulls his legs under him; he knows very well what he is doing, and he is trying to see what kind of reaction it will get him. He is testing them. "Where is this castle?"

His hand hovers over the map. He points it at the mountains he has sunk before. "Here?" he asks. A figurine is picked up and put on top of a lonely tower. "Here perhaps?" Finally he just lies down on the war table spread-eagled and groans. "Your spell wore me out, spell-chucker. Is that a magic thing?"

Lothar is appalled at how Ragnar is acting. How dare he act like he owns the place, disrespecting their hospitality? He looks to Khadgar, throwing a hand out as if to say, _Do you see this? Do something about it._

Khadgar just shrugs, making Lothar huff and step towards the table. He shoves at Ragnar's leg, urging him to get up off the table. "Get off," he scoffs. "You say you are a king and yet you certainly don't act like one." He glares hard at him once he moves, picking up the figure on the mountain and moving it to the correct spot on the map. Perhaps a little too forcefully. "We are right here."

"It happens to first-timers. It'll wear off, don't worry." Khadgar answers Ragnar weakly during the exchange.

And by that, unwittingly, he earns his respect. Ragnar allows himself to be manhandled off the table. "Thank you," he says, suddenly lenient. To Khadgar, at least, who gives him consideration rather than judgement. The same courtesy is not extended to Lothar. "I mean what I say. Give me a bed and you shall have my gratitude. I promise I won't go wandering off. Take my axe if you do not trust me; it would offend me not."

Lothar is reluctant to allow Ragnar any sort of luxury, but Stormwind is known for their kindness and the rightful treatment of people. "Keep your axe," he says. "We'll have a room for you. Know that there will be guards stationed outside." What example would he give if he denies Ragnar a king's welcome?

But he continues to eye him after their unwanted guest gets off the table and sticks too close to Khadgar, smiling at him. He doesn't like it. And he does not like the praise he is showering the mage with. Lothar continues to glare, hardly paying attention anymore to his words. He is only interested in making sure that Ragnar does not get too close to Khadgar.

Ragnar nods absently. He tries to make sense of the map. "This is not my world," he says at last. "I do not recognize the seas. There is no England on it. Nothing of it makes sense. You must be powerful, to be able to cross worlds and pick me from mine like it is nothing." Ragnar glances at Lothar. "To have someone like you, your lover is a lucky man."

Lothar stands shocked. He knew it was a bad idea telling Ragnar that Khadgar is his. He only hopes this won't ruin things for them in the future.

Khadgar nearly chokes. He covers it up with a laugh. "O—oh, uh, no…no we're not…lovers." The room suddenly feels too hot. Khadgar knows he is probably blushing. What is going on?

For a long time Ragnar's eyes bore into Lothar's.

There it is then, the truth. They are not lovers. But Ragnar knows enough to understand that Lothar wants them to be; it is the only reason why he would lie about it. And he wants Lothar to know that.

Then he inclines his head in apology. "An honest mistake. You seemed— _well_ , this is awkward. My apologies. It is not uncommon for a man to have a lover where I come from, and you seemed—but this isn't helping. Please. Lead the way."

The air is tense around them; Khadgar is the first to break it, though he avoids eye contact with both of them. "Right, um…let's go." He quickly moves past Lothar, not sure what to make of the situation that is now out in the open.

Lothar sighs, deflating as he follows them. He only hopes that tonight isn't going to be too awkward for them; or worse, that Khadgar decides not to stay with him. He has to fix things if he can and explain himself.

"This is my room; you can borrow it until I can find a way to send you home." Khadgar says quietly when they reach his quarters. He opens the door, feeling a bit embarrassed about the mess. "Sorry for all the books, you can move stuff out of the way if you need to."

"Can I see them?" Ragnar asks. He is well aware of the tense atmosphere he has singlehandedly created. He also pretends that it doesn't exist. "I wouldn't be able to read any, I am sure, but I would like to see. They are about magic, are they not? If you can, I would love to find out how it works. Magic is—well, doesn't happen often where I come from, and if it does, it is small. You are so at ease. You plucked me from another world like that."

Khadgar smiles faintly. "Tomorrow." He doesn't want him to go; it will leave him alone with Anduin Lothar, who has been scowling at Ragnar since the moment the stranger dropped on the war table, and whose mood seems impossibly sourer. He never denied anything, but neither has he talked. Khadgar has no idea where he stands.

His eyes are on the floor when the door shuts behind their guest with a finality. Well. "I should go back to the library," he mumbles. "There is probably more I can find that might help."

"Khadgar…" Lothar starts, but the mage has already disappeared. Great. This is not how he hoped to bring about this subject. He glares at the closed door in front of him, hoping Ragnar can feel his wrath through the wood.

Lothar heads to the library as well. Maybe he is still able to fix things between them. He finds Khadgar buried back in more books, though he only looks half as focused as he normally is. Lothar shuffles around the entrance, trying for once not to barge in and disturb the mage's work.

"I might not be of much help…but I can find books for you, if you want," he starts.

Khadgar glances up, and immediately buries himself deeper in his books. He shakes his head, minutely, as if willing Lothar to go away by avoiding him—which poses a difficulty, as he is already in his normal place of escape. Khadgar can't look him in the eye. It is the thing Ragnar said, so carelessly, that has him on edge. He doesn't want to know; he has always been better off not knowing, because he is afraid that admitting that maybe he likes Lothar more than he should is going to ruin things.

"I'm fine," he mutters, nearly biting his nail before he pulls back his thumb and sheepishly turns a page. He is willing Lothar to leave; at the same time, he doesn't want to say it out loud.

Lothar watches Khadgar move about nervously. He fears he is making the mage uncomfortable after what has been said, but can't leave until things have been cleared.

He steps closer, suddenly interested in the lines of wood on the table. Keeping his distance but staying close enough for no one else to eavesdrop, he picks at the table for something other to focus on.

"Does it bother you, what Ragnar said?" He asks quietly.

Khadgar nearly laughs. "Should it? He's wrong, and I don't get where he got the notion that we," he huffs, "we're—well, that." He doesn't know how fast to duck back into his books. By now he is sure that the tips of his ears are bright red, a color that is fading into his cheeks if he doesn't think _pure thoughts, pure thoughts, the incantation of an elemental, the three laws of magic…_

Because by the Light, he wants to. They have been going in circles for the larger part of a year. Every time Khadgar thinks he has a chance, something happens to mess it up. Lothar makes him feel like more than a friend more often than not, but the problem is that he can never be sure. Lothar will suddenly treat others the same, or finish something that makes Khadgar hopeful with some remark that will kick his affections back into the restraints of their friendship. And part of him, part of him fears that he might do so now. That he might laugh it off and consider the thought of them being lovers ridiculous at best.

And Khadgar does not want to hear it. He takes a deep breath that is meant to steel himself but only comes out in a pathetic shudder, and hides his face by reaching behind him for his bag.

Lothar almost feels disappointed hearing Khadgar speak like that. He fears that maybe Khadgar really is not interested in him, or any man for that matter. It is the way he acts that makes him rethink.

He watches Khadgar's nervousness, recognizing the embarrassment and fear of being rejected. It makes him feel better; to know that there might be hope between them. Though seeing the mage like this hurts, because Lothar is the one who put him in this position.

He rounds the table to the other side of Khadgar's chair and stops him from taking his bag, assuming that he is about to flee. Lothar tries searching for Khadgar's eyes. The mage keeps his gaze down though. Everything around them seems to stop. It is just the two of them.

"I don't like to share."

The question, to say the least, is unanticipated. Khadgar looks up, faster than he can hold himself back. "Share?" he asks. It confuses him. They aren't talking about sharing anything, they are talking about—

And that is where his thoughts split up. The rational part wonders whom Lothar is talking about, because he does not know anyone Lothar would have to share anything or anyone with. He is a league of his own; certainly nobody would challenge what is his. But the emotional part realizes that that is not what he's saying at all. His hand is warm, almost hot, on Khadgar's; it sends shivers down Khadgar's spine. He doesn't know what to say.

So perhaps it comes out a little faint. "Who says you should?" It is ambiguous at best. But Khadgar is far from caring about what he says when hope unfurls in his chest and his cool just evaporates.

That little spark of hope is enough for Lothar. He pulls Khadgar up out of his chair, bringing him close so their chests are nearly touching. He stares straight into Khadgar's eyes now that they're on him and he admires the dark beauty of them.

They have been in each other's space before, but never quite this close. Lothar gets lost staring at Khadgar, seeing every detail up close and finding some new ones that make him even more adorable. Like the very faint freckles spread across his cheeks.

"I don't like the way he looks at you." He says quietly in their intimate space. One hand never leaves Khadgar's and his other comes up to the middle of the mage's back, holding lightly but firm enough to keep him in place.

They are in a corner in the library; a fact that Khadgar is only too aware of. People do not generally hug in the library. Honestly, the raw tension crackling between them has no place here. It is almost inappropriate. If people see them, they will whisper.

If he moves and Lothar gets the wrong impression, that is worse. Khadgar's fingers rest on the man's hip as light as the touch of a feather. Summoning Ragnar here, he thinks, may not turn out to be so bad. "He is very forward in his interests," he admits. Then, in a rather bold move—wanting Lothar's affections and being told his boundaries instead, which is such a Lothar thing to do in that Khadgar understands what he is trying to say but which also sort of rubs him the wrong way—he adds, "I'm sure he wouldn't mind to share."

He casts his eyes down at once and chews the inside of his cheek. But Khadgar is smiling, too, anticipating—well, something more inappropriate than this, he is sure.

He's teasing, Lothar thinks. It is just like Khadgar to do something unexpected, but that is why he likes him. Lothar smirks at him, admiring the man's boldness. He pulls him in as close as they can get.

"I'm sure he wouldn't mind," Lothar says, leaning down to speak in Khadgar's ear. "But I want you to myself first." He pushes his nose into Khadgar's hair, nuzzling into the side of his face and gently moves his hips against the others.

Khadgar loses grip on the situation. Is this a love confession, or lust calling? What he knows is that it cannot unfold in the library in broad daylight either way. He also knows that he really wants to go on with it.

Nevermind that the idea of Lothar sharing him after having had him for himself is enough to make Khadgar weak to the knees.

"I should," he mumbles, quite distracted, "I should check if our guest is still in his chambers."

Khadgar doesn't know how he extracts himself from Lothar, gathers his books with composure, and starts walking back to his chambers—his destination being the room next to the one in which Ragnar is, rather—with one glance over his shoulder. He feels like the world is watching him.

Lothar sighs heavily when Khadgar leaves. It's rather frustrating now that confessions are out in the open, but the way Khadgar looks back at him tells Lothar he's just playing hard to get. Mages and their love for games.

Lothar smirks after him, taking a minute in the corner of the library to compose himself before heading after Khadgar. He catches up just in time to see Khadgar slip into his room, Ragnar's door undisturbed. Lothar lingers in the doorway, leaning against the frame as he watches Khadgar move about the room.

"Are all mages this hard to get, or are you just shy?"

"Excuse me?" Khadgar frowns. He is in the middle of fidgeting, waiting for Lothar to approach him because the bedroom is a more private place than the library, and they have no distractions here. So really, he expects Lothar to cross the distance and pick up where they left off. Instead, Khadgar gets this. "Well, why don't you ask the other mages?"

He gives up on expecting a love confession. There is just no indication for it. Which begs the question, should he allow this to continue? He is not a saint, and Lothar is offering freely; it is just that jumping into this could complicate their friendship, and Khadgar quite likes where that is.

Well, shit. Lothar wasn't expecting that kind of response. Khadgar doesn't look at him anymore and he fears he has just ruined everything. He just could not keep his big mouth shut.

His shoulders sag, feeling less confident now and knowing that he toes a fine line between them. He moves slowly, gently closing the door behind him and steps lightly over to Khadgar. He wants to touch him, put a hand on his shoulder, _something_. He doesn't.

"I'm sorry." He speaks quietly, he waits, the silence between them deafening. "I don't want to ask the other mages. Or anyone else."

"But you want to ask me?" Khadgar asks. In only a few hours, he has gone from at ease to a mess. He is quite done with the poor communication that has been the groundwork for most of that. So he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "I like you," he admits, with about the most courage he has ever had to muster up, as well as the quietest voice. "I think about you a lot. You don't have to say anything back if you don't want to. But if you play around with what I just told you, I will chase you down with fire until you have blisters for days. I am serious."

He raises his gaze to meet with Lothar's. They stand close to each other; his eyes catch hold of the older man and keep him rooted to the spot. Somewhere behind them, the door locks out anyone else; to their left is the wall that separates them from the instigator of it all. Khadgar holds in his breath.

Lothar looks back at Khadgar, taking in the information he was given. He feels terrible for being insensitive and making the mage doubt his intentions, but he's delighted to hear that these feelings are not one-sided. Now he just has to prove himself.

He smiles softly, reaching a hand up to cup the side of Khadgar's head, much like how he did back at Karazhan, but now there is purpose behind it. He pulls Khadgar in, bringing them close once again and dips his head so that their foreheads touch.

"I believe you." He whispers, his thumb strokes over Khadgar's cheek lightly. "Now believe me." He leans in and finally brings their mouths together, kissing Khadgar with as much tenderness as he can muster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations this chapter:
> 
> Hva er det du gjør? -What are you doing?
> 
> Stop dette nå. Hører du meg? Jeg sa.stop dette nå -Stop this now. You hear me? I said, stop this now.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An extra long chapter, and [a small art treat](http://bluemonkeywriting.tumblr.com/image/151893526380) for you guys. Enjoy!

It is as if the world remembers to breathe. Khadgar feels his skin cool like it has been washed with water, while other parts burn a bright flame. There is a coiling of his nerves that, now, no longer scares him. He parts his lips easily and responds. A whimper threatens to break free.

He has daydreamed of this moment for so long. Were it the times when Khadgar was forced to share a tent with Lothar, or the numerous stolen moments where they looked at each other a second too long, they do not compare with the relief and the intensity that washes over him now. Khadgar believes him. His hands pull Lothar closer.

He wants so much. As it is their first kiss, he holds himself back well enough, but he can't stop himself from backing up against the wall and drawing Lothar with him, nor from pressing up against him. All the while, he can't stop gushing to himself that this is really happening. Not a dream.

Lothar follows him along until there is no more space for them to go, their bodies pressing firmly together. Although it is what he had hoped for, he still can't believe Khadgar is kissing him back. This is what he wants. Khadgar. And not just for one night.

His free hand covers the mage's waist, gripping the fabric tight as he presses harder against his body. Lothar's lips part along with Khadgar's, where he teases his tongue against the other's and gets a faint taste of what he has imagined for so long.

Now that they've started, Lothar thinks he'd hardly be able to stop, but even he needs to breathe. He reluctantly pulls back an inch. "Khadgar…" he breathes.

Khadgar's pupils are blown. He nods with a giddiness that Lothar may recognize from how he responds whenever he learns something particularly rare or valuable—only now it is tinged with a definite edge of desire. He has longed to kiss that mouth possibly from the moment Lothar first grudgingly offered him a ride on the gryphon. Khadgar has suffered through enough times of Lothar's mockery since then. So many times that he thought anything more was impossible.

But the man against him wants him. "Yes?" he breathes almost huskily, and flushes—presses a hand against his mouth—when he hears himself. Scraping his throat, he tries again with more composure. "You said you wanted me for yourself first?"

Instead of answering, Lothar dives back in, fully intending to taste all of Khadgar. He has no idea if this will be his first and he does not want to ask for fear of insulting him again; Lothar would have their first time together be slow anyway.

He devours Khadgar's mouth, unable to hold himself back at least in that regard. His hands roam all over the mage's body, groaning in frustration when he counts the many layer Khadgar wears and that are currently holding him back from getting to his skin as soon as possible.

He manages to unclasp the cloak about him shoulders before breaking away again. "Why must you wear so many layers?"

And Khadgar could think of something witty to say, but he sorely agrees with his agitation and helps Lothar instead. His fingers work on his tunic while Lothar handles the rest. He is still nervous that this is a one-time thing; it is happening so fast, and they have barely kissed before they are already undressing. It might not be that serious.

But it isn't exactly like he can think straight. And Khadgar really, really wants this. He reaches up to distract Lothar with a kiss and bites his lip by accident when large hands find his sides. Light, Lothar knows where to touch a person. Khadgar finds himself at his beck and will, breathing hard against the wall, while only half-heartedly trying to make sense of the loops of Lothar's tunic.

"Breathe." Lothar says calmly, noticing how Khadgar's movements turn frantic. It only confirms that he probably has little to no experience in this. He takes Khadgar's hands in his own, stopping him from fumbling with his tunic.

"Let me. Perhaps the bed would be more comfortable." As he speaks, Lothar takes care of his own clothes. Khadgar might have more layers, but Lothar's tunic has more straps and loops. He tries to stay calm as to not rush and ruin this moment, but his heart is pounding in his chest probably just as nervously as Khadgar's. It has been a while since he wanted someone so badly and had a chance to act on it.

Khadgar's thoughts, if any, are all over the place. It is not often that he searches for things to say. So he sits on the bed quickly, still half dressed with his jerkin hanging open and his undershirt halfway down his shoulders.

But then Lothar moves to take off his own clothes. It is slow and not as cock-sure as he was before. "Come here," the man gestures to him. It is one thing to see article after article come off; another to know that he is allowed to touch but cannot. Light, Khadgar wants to crawl back into the furs and surrender. Even if it is—

His haze draws a picture of Lothar on top of him, grinding down against him, and Khadgar can't cope. He falls back into the sheets and groans. "Oh, _Light_."

Bare from the waist up, the laces on Lothar's breeches are only halfway undone when Khadgar falls back. Lothar hears him groan. He smirks, taking in the mages flushed state. The blush has traveled down onto the man's chest and Lothar can't wait to touch. To see how far down he can make it go.

He moves onto the bed, placing a knee between Khadgar's, and leans over him. His hands on either side, Lothar braces his weight as he looks down at Khadgar. It takes all his strength, not to completely cover the mage and devour him, with the way he looks underneath him.

"You're beautiful, do you know that?" Lothar hesitates as he moves to strip the rest of Khadgar's clothes off of him. The picture he presents right now is mesmerizing.

"Look who's talking," Khadgar says, flushed and so very turned on that it shows. He reaches up and pulls Lothar down for a kiss; if not that, he would have embarrassed himself pressing his hands against bare skin and praising him in ways that are likely to be held against him at some point in the future.

It does not matter. The moment Khadgar feels skin against skin, he is gone. "I didn't think you'd want me," he prattles, at the same time allowing his hands to venture. They like the possessive act of brushing through Lothar's hair and entertaining to grasp and tug him down. To have him above him is surreal. Khadgar is afraid he will wake up soon. And what a cruel dream that would be. "Or actually, I think there might have—" He frowns. "No, I don't—" Finally he laughs, "You are so confusing."

Lothar nearly outright moans when he finally feels them pressed together without the obstruction of fabric. Feeling Khadgar's hands on him is like heaven, his own exploring the rest of the mage's body as he takes off the last shirts.

"Me?" He laughs, "You're the one who's babbling. Just relax." His kisses move across cheeks and down to a throat, biting gently while his hand caresses Khadgar's chest. "You're perfect to me. Don't ever think I wouldn't want you," he reassures. Not only does he want to prove to Khadgar that he's serious, he wants to show that the boy does not need muscles and pure strength to be loved.

And Khadgar does not want to mess up. The thought of doing something wrong and having Lothar leave makes him eager to comply. So he sinks into the bed and grants access to explore.

A hand brushes along his chest and then his side light enough to give him goosebumps. They barely steer clear of becoming tickles. Whenever Lothar skirts too close, what comes out is instead an intake of breath or a small sound. Khadgar tilts his head. In the other room, barely a wall away, is a stranger they know nothing about. Would he be able to hear them; he wonders? Khadgar has been able to hear Lothar's bed creak on nights when he comes home late and gets into bed, but he doesn't recall hearing much more despite his best efforts.

"I thought I frustrated you," he admits. "You're the Regent. You fight like a cunning devil possesses you. And you never did have much patience for me."

Lothar pulls back, searching for Khadgar's eyes with a frown. It true he hasn't been the most welcoming in the beginning. Ever since Cally died, Lothar has had a hard time opening his heart to anyone. Showing his feelings is even worse. He hates that it made Khadgar feel that way. All he can do now is try to make up for it.

"At first. But that's the thing about being human. We grow and change, I certainly have." He cups Khadgar's cheek once again, bringing him to face him. "I've changed because of you. And for once, I am happy again. Truly"

"I don't know what I did," admits Khadgar with the smallest of smiles. "But I really like you happy." He is loath to admit that his own infatuation stretches back longer than that. However, he takes what he can get. So what if his eyes shine bright and his emotions are an open book? As long as Lothar treats him like this, the world may know that he is in love.

In all truth, he feels like he could scream. But Khadgar is a mature man; he can be dignified. He can be. So he starts the kiss delicate, where every touch is an impulse that adds up to an urge he can already barely contain, while his fingers at last venture to Lothar's chest.

Khadgar gapes. "You're so…firm."

Lothar smiles into to their kisses, feeling light and giddy like he used to be in his youth. Khadgar does that to him. Medivh, one of his best friends may have gone, and Khadgar could never replace him, but he fills the void the other mage left behind and more.

He laughs at Khadgar's comment, pulling away from the kiss. "That is one way to put it." He continues his exploration down the side of his neck, ghosting his lips over Khadgar's chest. His hands have moved lower, trailing the edge of his thighs, teasing but not quite reaching where he wants just yet.

He would not know it, but Khadgar is glad that he doesn't. It isn't that he has no experience in these matters. Generally speaking, though, this might be the longest crush he has held on to, and one he never expected to surmount to anything. So although his body responds without thought, to have it happen as fast as it does is still mildly overwhelming for him.

Lothar moves in a certain way, and the bed creaks. Khadgar freezes under him.

They stop at the same time. These walls aren't as thick as one would think. Lothar looks at the wall as if he could see right through to where their guest is.

Should they move or not, he wonders? But there is no alternative, other than a guest room, and Lothar doesn't want their first experience to be in an impersonal space like that. He wants to stay here and he wants Ragnar to know exactly what is going on.

"Let him hear, if he's still awake." Lothar whispers into Khadgar's ear. His hands resume his worship of flank and thighs, his hips pressing firm against the mage's. "I want him to know you are mine now."

"He really gets to you, doesn't he?" Khadgar whispers in what he hopes is a voice quiet enough. Maybe the spell has worn off and Ragnar would not be able to understand them anymore. Then again, if Lothar is bent on having their guest know, then know he will. Khadgar feels his heart skip a beat at the thought—and well, isn't that unanticipated?

But soon those thoughts evaporate. His body responds eagerly to touch. Khadgar closes his eyes and lets his fingers toy with the hair and the hem of the man's trousers; whenever he trails his fingertips over the dark hair under Lothar's navel, he is rewarded with a lovely response, and involuntarily spreads his legs in reply.

"Someone who looks like me vying for your attention, of course it'd get to me." Lothar hums, liking the way in which Khadgar handles his hair. Feeling his hands on him gets him more excited than he wants to admit. It is just so good. His own stutter over Khadgar's skin when he feels those fingers trailing low, it takes all he has not to buck his hips and lose the sensation of those fingers.

But then Khadgar spreads his legs and Lothar has to settle between them. This time he does moan. He hasn't realized how hard he has gotten until he finds himself pressed against Khadgar, who is equally as affected. "Light, Khadgar…"

"He wasn't vying," Khadgar weakly protests, a little belatedly. His head tips back, the minute their bodies finally align. From his lips falls a sigh. "I want to be in this bed all day," he all but groans. Lothar can take hours picking him apart and Khadgar would not mind it. He has a few responsibilities in the late afternoon. With a quick missive they are easily rescheduled.

Experimentally he rolls his hips up, and almost loses his bearing. By now his cheeks are flushed, his eyes lidded. They are both still half dressed, moving against each other. This is really happening, he thinks. Lothar, impossible and unattainable Lothar, wants him too. How did that happen?

And every sound Khadgar makes sends shivers of pleasure down Lothar's spine. He is the one doing that. He takes pride in knowing that he's the one pulling those sounds from Khadgar. It makes him daring.

A hand pushes past the waistband of Khadgar pants, finally getting a handful of his round bottom. He pulls their hips impossibly closer; Lothar has to pull away again to get a good look at the man beneath him. "Can I?" He pants, still moving his hand against the soft skin of his ass.

"Yeah," the man swallows around his nerves and his eagerness, and decides to make work of Lothar's own trousers once and for all. Which, as it turns out, is slightly more difficult than he had expected with a body this close. But Khadgar is nothing if not persistent. He gets the buttons undone, and almost has the garment past Lothar's hips when he raises his own to help.

They are a fumbling mess. "Next time," Khadgar breathes between kisses that he steals of his own, from neck and shoulder and jaw, "we're both not wearing this much." A bath might do. Or a nightgown.

The instant he is fully naked however, his words die on his tongue.

"Next time," Lothar repeats, slightly breathless. He has to settle back on his knees, off Khadgar to get both of their pants off. Seeing Khadgar shirtless was a beauty, but seeing him naked takes his breath away.

Being a mage, he isn't as muscled as Lothar is used to seeing with his troops, but he is by no means unfit. To Lothar, he is perfect; soft but lean and just right for the perfect hug. Perfectly Khadgar. And that's before his eyes get to what lies between his legs.

"I might have a hard time holding myself back after this," he says. He needs to kiss him again and get his hands back on him. With no more restrictions, his hands move freely inching closer to Khadgar's hardness, but not before his thumbs rub circles into the crease of his thighs, brushing the dark hairs around his cock, teasing.

Khadgar's eyes adamantly does not stray. He focuses his attention on Lothar's hand, which closes in on its target faster yet at the same time not fast enough. It isn't that he is afraid to look at Lothar's body. His hands grasp at anything while he tries to hold onto some form of sanity.

But once he sees all of Lothar, there is no way around the idea of what it is going to be like to have that inside. It is all real, flesh and strong muscle on top of his own softer body. "Don't hold yourself back," he pants. Khadgar is in awe. He is loaded breaths and gripping hands; his hips buck up on their own accord. He is already being taken apart when in his absence of mind, he sucks down on the skin under his mouth.

With that approval, Lothar finally reaches for what he's been wanting to touch. He grips him softly, the heat of his hardness intense within his palm. Khadgar is only slightly smaller than him, but it suits his lean body.

"Maybe we should move this further on the bed," Lothar all but whispers into his skin. Being on the edge makes it harder for him to do what he wants, and what he wants right now is to get his mouth on Khadgar. He shifts them to a better position until Khadgar leans against his pillows. It's a sight he thought he'd never see. For a moment he just looks.

Khadgar, naked and on his bed. If it were possible for him to get any harder, this would be the time. Though his cock does twitch when he settles back between the mages legs, his face a lot lower this time.

Khadgar does not object. He can't. He is sinking into furs, his legs pulling up and slipping all the time, but he just doesn't care. He wants Lothar so badly that it hurts. The bed creaks once again. The anticipation is killing him.

So when lips and a wet mouth draw over him, he practically keens. Khadgar reaches out a hand, wanting to wind through Lothar's hair or clutch his shoulder. He stops at the last moment, suddenly aware of himself, but then Lothar is sucking him off, his mouth so very mind-blowingly sinful as it slides around his skin, and Khadgar doesn't think that just brushing his hand along the man's jaw is that bad.

Lothar does his best to look up at Khadgar with him still in his mouth. He's hardly experienced himself with lying with a man, but he knows the basics. He has gotten his fair share of an eyeful when his troops have been out on the field, and he doesn't mind relations between his men as long as they get the job done when needed.

But seeing and doing are different things and, although Lothar does his best, he hopes that Khadgar doesn't notice that he learns as he goes. He does what he thinks would feel good. By Khadgar's reactions, he is succeeding. One hand keeps him in place while the other rubs at his balls, his thumb stretching down further to barely brush against his hole.

"There's oil in the drawer over there," he pulls off just enough to mention to Khadgar. He doesn't want to move from where he is or stop what he's doing to grab the bottle.

"Okay," Khadgar nods. He moves to fetch it, unwilling as he is to make the effort though knowing that it will be worth it. But Lothar keeps doing whatever he can to make him see stars, and he falls back and curves his chest off the bed when his resolve crumbles. "Don't distract me. You're distracting me. Light, Lothar, could you—oh, _yes_."

So he doesn't reach for the oil. He draws himself up into a—barely—sitting position, pulling Lothar up off him and kisses him hard. Khadgar can taste himself on the other man's tongue, and wrinkles his nose only until he forgets about that, too. More important things. "Right," he remembers belatedly. "Oil. A minute."

It does take him a minute. A few seconds less, really, he adds proudly in thought. Khadgar hands over the bottle and spreads his legs. Then, because he has a traitorous mind with a penchant for previously useless facts, he says, "They say it can hurt the first time?"

That kiss makes Lothar's heart soar. As does Khadgar's moans make pleasure tingle under his skin. Lothar smirks, knowing—and seeing—just how much he has an effect on the mage. He kisses him once more as he leans back on the bed, Lothar following on top of him. "Did you read that in a book?" He teases.

"I'll make sure to be extra careful." He kisses a trail back down Khadgar's body, lazily licking his cock as he opens the bottle. Slick now, his fingers continue rubbing the space behind his balls before sliding lower over his hole. Lothar takes him back into his mouth to distract Khadgar. One finger slowly slips inside him.

There is resistance, but other than that it is not uncomfortable. Khadgar's breath hitches for other reasons than pain. The thing is, he knows that one finger is not going to be enough. So he expects the second one, and he almost fears the third. But at the same time, Lothar makes it hard for him to think. And the finger is starting to feel really good.

When he starts pushing back is when the second finger comes. It is uncomfortably tight. Khadgar pants. He would have liked the idea of a little pain around the edges before—nothing big, but pinches and, yes, a stretch—and yet he doesn't want it now. He winces and stills his hips, and his smile is apologetic. "Sorry," he offers. "Keep going." Others are probably far better at this than him, but he will not give up.

Lothar pulls off and kisses Khadgar's stomach. "Tell me if I should slow down." But he slows his fingers down anyway, pushing them up to rub against his walls. It is unbearably hot inside, Lothar can only imagine what it will feel like around his cock. The thought sends a shiver down his spine.

He leaves Khadgar's cock for now, kissing his way back up to his neck. He spends a few moments there, sucking marks into his skin. He wants to leave marks, not only to have the chance to rub it in Ragnar's face, but to let anyone else know that the mage is taken.

As soon as Khadgar will find them in a mirror, he will be both proud as well as terribly self-aware. As it is, he has no idea that the delicious feeling of being claimed also entails being marked. He starts getting used to the feeling, the stretch getting less, and allows himself to breathe and move. "This is good," he nods.

Good does not begin to describe it. His cock is weeping for attention, while at the same time Lothar possessively hunches over him and satisfies so much with that simple gesture. And it certainly does no justice to the spike of pleasure that suddenly lashes through him. Khadgar gasps loudly. He is sure that the sound carries, and he doesn't care. "Again," he implores, breathing hard. His eyes are open wide and staring at the ceiling, his gaze that of a man possessed with something so amazing. His hands grasp at Lothar's back. He doesn't care about anything that is not him anymore.

Lothar complies, hitting that spot inside him again. His own cock is straining, eager to feel the same heat that's around his fingers. And Khadgar's gasps and moans certainly aren't helping. He's all but forgotten the man next door, his senses completely focused and surrounded by Khadgar.

Licking his way back to Khadgar's mouth, he kisses him deeply as he sneaks a third finger into him, his thumb pressing into his balls. Lothar moans into his mouth at the tight fit, feeling vicariously through his fingers what it will be like on his cock.

The wait isn't long. Khadgar has little trouble adjusting to the third, now that he copes with the second. He hides nothing. By now the point has come across that Lothar truly wants him, and it makes him greatly less insecure about opening up. So he tilts his head to promise to Lothar, "If you don't do it now, it'll be too late." His body trembles with need. Frankly, he doesn't need Lothar in him to get him off, and he has no real idea what he is asking for. But Khadgar wants. He wants to see Lothar come undone, and he wants to kiss him on his high, his legs around him as he coaxes him further and further.

"Light," Lothar groans, pulling away. He slips his fingers out and fumbles for the bottle to get more oil. He nearly comes right there's as he slicks his cock and stares down at Khadgar looking wrecked already, flushed and panting below him.

He has to take a deep breath to calm himself before finally settling over Khadgar and positioning himself at his hole, hiking one of his legs up. Lothar kisses him, over his mouth, his cheeks, his neck. Anywhere he can get while he pushes in painfully slow, not only for Khadgar's sake but to keep him from going off way too soon.

And Khadgar gladly accepts the extra attention. He finds it sweet, at first, how Lothar does his best to make this good for him even though Khadgar himself doesn't expect it to hurt that much.

But the intrusion knocks his breath away. He stills until the only thing that moves is his chest and more dominant than the tightness are fingers digging into Lothar's back. "…A minute," he bargains. It'll be good, he reminds himself. He's never heard of anyone not liking this, so it has to be. It's just, well, something to get used to.

Lothar stills, only halfway inside him. It is probably best they wait a few moments, the tightness around him as well as Khadgar's nails digging into his back would be enough, but Lothar doesn't want this to end in just a few seconds. "You feel…so good."

Once he feels Khadgar relax enough, he starts pushing the rest of himself inside. Again he has to still. Being completely inside Khadgar is far more intense and wonderful than he has ever imagined. He rolls his hips a few times, just to get them started and for Khadgar to get used to the feeling and sensations before he can't help himself and thrust.

It is incredibly intimate. They are both laid bare as they move against each other, stilted at first. Their chests brush without intending to, and Khadgar shifts his hips to ease the access, figuring out which angle works best. He lets Lothar work out the rhythm. There is a big chance that if he tries to meet the man's shallow thrusts, he would mess up the fragile pace.

"You're amazing," he whispers against his ear. Khadgar is a tactile person, and he communicates with his fingertips on Lothar's skin. Slowly, the slapping together of skin is accompanied by other sounds. Expulsions of air that closely follow Lothar's thrusts. It is not long before whimpers follow.

That moment when Khadgar arches up and his hands frantically reach for something to hold onto, his mouth open in an ‘oh', marks the change.

Khadgar's sounds only egg Lothar on, and he has to get up on his knees to keep his pace steady. The angle also pushes Khadgar's hips up. Lothar feels like he is able to get in deeper. He grunts and pushes up on his hands, looking down at the mage.

Lothar wishes there was a way to capture the image Khadgar makes. Even though he's sure he'll get to have him after this, nothing will compare to seeing him like this for the first time. He tries to keep up the rhythm on his hands and knees, but he just can't stay away and leans back down for another kiss, cradling the mage's face in his hand. "Khadgar."

He is kissed back with fervour and a body that has become responsive to the tiniest changes. Lothar needs to tilt his hips only slightly for Khadgar to feel it. His breathing is the praise; fast when he is barely holding on, and deep, labored, when Lothar educates him in the different ways to take pleasure from a man.

One hand finally ends up on Lothar's ass. Khadgar does not mean to tug every time Lothar thrusts in, bringing him ever a bit deeper. It simply happens. He bites his lip whenever Lothar hits him at a particularly good angle. A tension is starting to build up. He is so close, so very—

Lothar's rhythm begins to falter when Khadgar's hand makes him thrusts in deeper rather than faster, dragging out the pleasure between them. He begins to lose focus, the friction of being inside Khadgar becoming too much. It's been quite a while since his last tryst, so this isn't going to last very long.

He moans when Khadgar tenses up around him. The way he flails and pants, Lothar knows he is getting close. Lothar is too. He reaches between them to grip Khadgar, his own pleasure spiking in a manner he knows means he's about to come. He pulls away from kissing him just long enough to gather what focus he could in bringing them at last to that final edge.

He stops only for a moment, overcome with the sensations of finally getting to have Khadgar and claiming him in the most intimate way. His thrusts resume but only just barely, riding out that last bit of pleasure before he inevitably has to leave the warmth of the mage's body.

Khadgar can feel it all. He is utterly spent, his skin sweaty in a way that deserves a bath though it is the middle of the day, the mess between them already turning sticky. But though their scent has likely gotten into the bedding and the bed itself will bear the reminder until they clean it, Khadgar feels the best he has in a long while.

Warmth takes hold in his chest, and the fondest affection. He will not say it aloud, he thinks, until they are both at that same point, but he is undeniably in love. It probably shows in the way he looks at Lothar, keeping him inside for as long as he can while stealing short, heated kisses and making sounds still. "That was so good," he breathes. "You—Light, Lothar, we are doing this again soon. You're amazing. Is this how it's always supposed to feel?" He doesn't see why people would ever get down to actual work if they could be doing this instead.

Lothar laughs softly, he hasn't felt this good, this happy in such a long time. He knows that Khadgar is to thank. Even after what they had just done, covered in sweat and come and oil, Lothar still finds him just as beautiful. Cally had been his first love and he'll never forget her, but he has this chance with Khadgar to love and be loved. His heart soars. "If you do it with someone you love."

He kisses Khadgar's forehead, brushing his sweaty hair back and finally pulls out as carefully as he can. He settles next to him and pulls him back into an embrace, not ready to stop touching him just yet. He caresses Khadgar's cheek, staring straight into his dark eyes, even without using magic to Lothar they still glow. "That was really your first time, wasn't it?"

"I—well—" Khadgar doesn't want to talk of past experience now; Lothar's extensive knowledge and experience will come up, and he doesn't want to think about anyone else having slept with him now. He has a kid; had a wife. Khadgar knows, of course, and he is fine with it. Now is just not the time. Not when he feels this amazing. A buzz courses through his body. "It doesn't really matter. Are you free tonight? I've just discovered this incredible new thing to do, see…"

The conflict on Khadgar's face immediately makes Lothar regret that he asked. It doesn't matter really; he'd rather enjoy this nice moment than bring up any negativity. He kisses Khadgar in apology and pulls back to smile at him. "Oh yeah? What is it?" He asks, though he knows full well what Khadgar means. He wants to see what Khadgar will say. Lothar can already tell he's falling more in love with him.

"It involves," Khadgar nearly rolls his eyes at Lothar's ill-concealed attempt to fluster him, "getting you naked again." It is his next favourite thing, he decides as he basks in Lothar's attention. The bed is nice and he knows he will sleep in it tonight because of their guest occupying his own, but that will hardly be what he is most looking forward to. "I might be naked in it, too."

Fine. Khadgar's cheeks heat up. He gives up. "But yes, first time." Going this far, at least. He has experience, and not a small bit either, which is courtesy of some experimental phase during his time in Dalaran. But this was blissfully new. He looks between them. "It's always this messy, isn't it?"

"I like this idea," Lothar says, kissing Khadgar again because he just can't stop. It's going to become difficult come morning when they have to get up and face the world again. He's not sure if this will become a public thing—if Khadgar will want it to be public—but Lothar knows he wouldn't care either way, as long as he gets to have Khadgar in his bed every night from now on.

But enough of the future. Lothar wants to focus on the now. Mainly a naked Khadgar in his bed. "Unfortunately, yes." He replies. He looks back at him seriously now, his hands caressing anywhere he can get. "I'm honored you let me be your first." He leans in closer, resting their foreheads together. "And I hope I'll be your only," he whispers.

He still has doubts. Doubts that Khadgar will tire of him one day and move on to someone younger, someone closer to his own age. But he has lived long enough and experienced love and loss enough times that not acting on this chance will only continue his downward spiral into loneliness. He wants to be happy. And he knows Khadgar can give him that.

"That'll be up to you," Khadgar says. Something about being pampered by this man, by being sure that he has his full attention, is addictive. Khadgar wants to return it. He absently utters a few syllables, the air in the room shifts, and if Lothar were to look away from him, he would find a streaming bath. It is just a large tub; Khadgar can't be bothered finding a better way to do this. But although it's there, he likes to pretend it is not.

Lothar said something about sharing before; now is not the time to make a joke of that. It is however on Khadgar's mind the moment Lothar tells him he wants to be the only one. So he stretches his limbs and tucks a strand of hair behind Lothar's ear. "I am lucky," he says. "Look at you. It's hard to believe this happened. But why would Ragnar say that we were lovers? I am glad he did, don't get me wrong. I just don't think I gave him any reason to think so?"

No matter how many times he sees it, Lothar is always fascinated by the glow of Khadgar's eyes when he uses magic. He isn't sure at first what he did and has to take a quick look about the room before he spots the tub, filled with steaming water. "That is a nice trick to have." He smirks.

Pride swells with the way Khadgar speaks of him. The mage isn't the only lucky one. But the good feeling is shattered when Khadgar speaks about Ragnar. He sighs heavily, looking to the ceiling as if it had all the answers. "It is my fault. I…may have given him the impression that you were already spoken for."

He sits up slowly, facing Khadgar but avoiding eye contact. "Perhaps a bath will help me better explain this."

Khadgar stares at him. He knows a guilty man when he sees one, and Lothar's avoidance is anything but charming. "You did what?" he asks. Khadgar is not going anywhere. The bath is hot enough to last another five minutes without getting cold. "You told him I was yours? When we—why?" He can only think of one reason, which is that Ragnar may have expressed interest in either of them. But that is preposterous. Khadgar's magic has dragged the man into this unfamiliar world only hours ago, and besides, would he not have known?

But then his thoughts go back to Lothar, whose interest has left him wondering for months. Is he that blind? "Why?" he asks again. "You can't do that and not tell me first."

He's done it. Lothar has ruined everything even before it started. There isn't much he could do but tell the truth or dig himself deeper into a hole and he doesn't enjoy the thought of being on Khadgar's bad side for any amount of time. He sighs again knowing he won't let this go until it's resolved and remains on the bed, facing away now.

"I had planned on telling you…soon. I wanted to wait for the right moment, to tell you how I felt." He runs his fingers over the fur beneath him, something to keep his hands busy and distracted. "And then this _Ragnar_ comes along and he looked at you—like he wanted you. I didn't like it." He leaves it at that, hoping that Khadgar will understand.

He doesn't expect the arms that wrap around his waist, nor the chin that rests on his shoulders. "You mean," Khadgar whispers, very careful but also oddly flattered, "you were jealous."

He does not usually like jealous people. It is a trait that makes ugly things of normal people. But it is also the thing that made this happen. Had Lothar not stated his claim, Ragnar would have likely never brought it up.

It's also flattering, he realizes, that the stranger looks at him like that. "Well, that explains why you've been difficult on him," he muses. "I'm yours now, I suppose." If Lothar wants it. And Khadgar is again nervous for the answer. "Be nice to our guest," he asks. "It's because of my mistake that he's here."

Lothar squeezes him, "Yes." He whispers. It's a petty thing, but he can't help it. When he loves, he loves strongly and he doesn't throw it around lightly. Ragnar just manages to bring out his ugly side with how he looks at Khadgar as if he wants to eat him. Though Lothar has not forgotten Khadgar's earlier proposition.

He kisses his shoulder and leans into Khadgar, resting their heads together. With the edge of release gone, everything seems far more intimate now, Lothar being hyper-aware of where their skin touches when nothing is standing in between them anymore. "I'm glad you are." He smiles. "Do you think he's still asleep? After all that?"

"I don't believe he fell asleep at all," Khadgar murmurs. "Would you, if it was you and I just dragged you into a foreign new world?"

He likes where he is, plastered against a man he has thought far out of his league many times, but he extracts himself nonetheless and pads to the bath in all his naked, self-aware glory. He doesn't cover himself up, so that Lothar might also not.

The water soothes his body from the moment he puts one leg in. Khadgar sinks down to sit and makes space.

The bed in his own room creaks. He hears footsteps, and he realizes for the first time that Lothar could have overheard many things that Khadgar has done while in his own room, too. His cheeks warm up at once. "He heard," he whispers with surety.

"No," Lothar says off-handedly. He wouldn't feel comfortable at all in a foreign world, but he's finding it hard to concentrate on that thought with Khadgar walking around naked. His cock gives a halfhearted twitch, watching him get in the tub.

He doesn't need to be enticed anymore into joining him, settling in the spot behind the mage, pulling him back into his chest and between his own legs. In the silence that reigns when they enjoy the hot water, Lothar hears it too, Ragnar moving about the room. "I'd be surprised if he hadn't heard. We weren't exactly quiet."

Khadgar closes his eyes. Lothar's warmth is more present against him, but so is the sound in the other room more audible. He allows himself to settle. "He doesn't know anyone here," he says, his voice shaky. "He wouldn't tell." But he does wonder if Lothar feels proud about the way in which he claimed his stake being heard. "I should think of a way to get him back where he belongs."

He unapologetically sinks lower in the water and purrs. "I could get used to this." One hand grazes Lothar's, resting on his stomach, and he leans his head back against the man's shoulder. "Forget about the audience."

"Would you mind, if people knew?" Lothar will respect whatever wishes Khadgar had about this. He wouldn't mind either way, though he would probably end up being even more jealous around anyone who spent time with Khadgar if no one knew. Then again, if their relationship is out in the open, he will have Taria and her insistent questions to deal with. "You can figure out a way later."

He leans back with Khadgar, resting against the side of the tub. Their closeness and heat of the water is relaxing and calming, Lothar doesn't want to move for a while. "I agree."

And so it becomes easy for Khadgar to forget that he has other duties that day. He drifts off into a slumber against Lothar. Were he more awake, he would never have allowed himself this. The man's physique is strong and yet unfamiliar despite what they've just done. But with so many impressions, he simply nods off.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back with another chapter!
> 
> Much gratitude goes to [Demidea](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Demidea/pseuds/Demidea), whose amazing feeling for picking the right words, as well as her speed and humor during beta, improved this chapter greatly.

After some time passes, Lothar notices that Khadgar has fallen asleep. He does not want to wake him–Khadgar is probably exhausted–and it takes effort to make sure that the mage does not sink under, for Lothar to get Khadgar out of the tub. He dries him off gently, Khadgar murmuring something without really waking up, before tucking him under the covers of his bed. Khadgar looks peaceful. Lothar has to lean down to place a kiss on his forehead, brushing his hair back only to have it fall over again. It is adorable. He could watch Khadgar like this forever, but he has business to attend to.

So reluctantly Lothar gets dressed and leaves Khadgar asleep while he slips out of the room to knock on the door next to his and see what their guest is getting up to, alone in the mage's room. He must have certainly heard their escapades.

It takes a while before any response comes, for Ragnar stares at the door in distrust. Oh, he knows who is on the other side. He does not expect this conversation to go down smoothly. That, and he is pretty sure he is still a prisoner, albeit one with a comfortable prison cell featuring an unlocked door. Ragnar is not supposed to wander, no matter how tempting that is; no matter how much he would, if not for the mage on whom he depends to return him to his own world.

"Who is it?" he calls. His voice is sharp despite his fatigue. He had only been able to get a few minutes of sleep before the men in the other room woke him up, after all.

"Lothar."

Lothar waits to see if Ragnar will open the door for him, but when he does not, Lothar makes the decision to go in anyway. He has done so several times with Khadgar before. Maybe Ragnar believes he is not allowed to open the door for anyone.

Lothar knows he has not been the most gracious of hosts. Ragnar did not ask to be brought here; so far, he had done nothing wrong other than wander too close to the throne room, which is hardly an offense for someone in his situation. Lothar still is not entirely comfortable around the stranger, but for Khadgar's sake he might at least try to be friendly. "I apologize if we've kept you up," he says. "These walls are not as thick as they seem."

Ragnar observes him. He sits perched on Khadgar's bed. Less dressed than before, the inkings on his body and his savage appearance stand out against the neat—albeit parchment-littered—chambers that belong to the mage. "You apologize for making him your lover?" he asks, quite dumbfounded. This is not a custom he is familiar with. "My sleep is hardly as important as that. And I did not find it bothersome to hear to begin with."

Lothar can't help but look him up and down. The marks on his body that he hadn't seen before are fascinating. It's not as if he has never seen marks before, but the practice is not exactly common amongst his people. And these are not so common amongst his people. They must be meaningful to Ragnar where he comes from.

"I would never apologize for that. It is not considered hospitable to disturb a guest's sleep." It's an odd sight, being in Khadgar's rooms without the man being there, with someone who looks like Lothar himself seated on the bed. Of course this man keeps surprising him, now that he has the ability to speak. "You did not find it bothersome? Is it common amongst your people for men to have relations?"

Ragnar shrugs. "I have no problems with it. You either want someone or you do not. Life is easier that way." The corners of his mouth tug up into a knowing smile. "You just needed the push. Good for you. But don't wear him out too much. I still need him to bring me back. Or, if that is not going to happen," because he is not a fool, and he knows he is still here for a reason, "show me this land."

He pulls a bare foot up on the bed and tilts his head. It is with great curiosity that Ragnar regards Lothar. "Well," he adds, "if you can find the time for it, of course. The little one is not going to give you much of a break, if I have judged him correctly."

"Tomorrow. If Khadgar decides to spend all day in the library, then I will take you around Stormwind." Lothar enjoys showing people his city, but he's still wary of Ragnar. If he does take him out, he will be sure to bring at least two guards.

He takes pride in knowing that Ragnar acknowledges his and Khadgar's relationship, but still Lothar can feel his face heat up at the comment. He never suspected Khadgar to be the sexual type, let alone a voracious one, while to Ragnar–who has known him a day–that comes as no surprise. Based on his most recent memory of the mage, Lothar thinks it is _he_ that won't let _Khadgar_ have a break, rather than the other way around.

"And what is your full judgement of him?" he can't help but ask.

Ragnar snorts. He sits back, leaving it up to Lothar to find a place to sit. "My full judgement, yes? Do you honestly need it?"

The room is warmer than he is used to this time of the year, and the layers on the bed too much. The land outside must be a different climate. Less snowy, Ragnar assumes. He is half undressed for a reason—though he could get used to this. It would be a sweet victory to have this palace under his name. But then that is not currently his priority.

"Very well," he begins. "He does magic. Powerful magic. I might have underestimated him until I found out he pulled me here. It does not matter that the outcome of the spell seems to have you two in conflict; he has power. Among my people, such a gift is rare. So rare, in fact, that it is considered to be of the gods. He might be one," he considers, "but I can only think of one with that kind of power, and Khadgar seems far too young and inexperienced to be the Alfather. Then again, that may be an illusion. If he is, then this must be Valhalla, but it certainly looks different from what I have imagined. Less food and ale. Less," he tips his head, "fighting. But let's not assume it is so. So, Khadgar. Not as quiet as he seems. He interests me," he adds. "From what I gathered, he's quite headstrong. Fun." Now Ragnar leans forward. "There. Now, what do you think of me?"

The people and places that Ragnar speaks of are strange to Lothar. He doesn't recognize the names, but that is to be expected since he is from another world. Lothar walks further into the room. He doesn't sit, instead lingering by one of the tables that are scattered with books. He picks one up, if only to give his hands something to do.

"I can't be the only one to find it odd how similar we look. Yet you are different from myself. I admit I did not like you when you first arrived, but I am also not one to trust easily. And you didn't help your case wandering about, trying to get into the throne room." Lothar is having a hard time getting around to trusting the man. "But, Khadgar sees something in you. He is willing to give you a chance, however long you stay here."

"Ah, that's what the fuss was about? The throne room?" Ragnar raises his hands in defeat. "I did not know. It was a big room and it seemed fanciful, that is all." He has many questions. But before he can ask about their ruler, or the keep itself, a yawn stretches his face. He suppresses it well enough. "Sorry about that," he says. As always, his words come out only half honest and equal parts mischief, but that doesn't mean that he is genuinely tired, and slightly under the weather from the transportation–which has been anything but a pleasant ride.

"In my world," he starts, lying himself back on the bed, "it is colder. There is snow on the mountaintops. My people prepare for the summer raids, when we go out and find new places. The land is more fertile in the South. I was outside when a great thunderstorm befell me." His eyes drift shut. "It was so local that I thought it to be Thor. The sky darkened like I have never seen it darken before, but the bay itself was clear. Imagine my surprise when I find you two instead. I do not know why it is you brought me here however."

Lothar watches him, taking in how exhausted he seems. "If you're here long enough, our king may wish to see you. But I can give no guarantee." Little by little he sees more of himself in Ragnar, like how he would push himself claiming he is fine until he collapses. They may be more similar than he thinks. He can't be sure. "We get snow in the winter season," he continues. "It is summer now." It is probably useless information, given that Ragnar is not supposed to stay if Khadgar can figure out how to send him back. "Our lands have been invaded by monstrous creatures. Orcs, they are called. Larger and stronger than anything we've encountered before. Khadgar was trying to summon an entity to help us fight them. Instead we got you."

There is a tense silence between them for a second. Instead they got Ragnar. "Tell me of these Orcs," the stranger says instead. He waves his hand about in the air. He is coarseness in a room of sophistication, and he is too tired to care. "It is quite easy. If your foe is stronger, you must be smarter instead."

"…Yes." Lothar is a bit stunned and surprised hearing his own words thrown back at him. And by Ragnar, no less. But he recovers and moves to sit on the bed against the headboard. He's getting a bit tired of standing and sitting closer is better than calling across the room. Khadgar is still sleeping just next door.

"Well, they are like giants, with hands as big as your torso, their weapons even larger. For their size and brute force, they are smarter than you'd think. Their leader wields foul, dark magic. They are from another world, like you, but theirs is dying. They sought to invade ours to take it."

"Ah. Invaders." Ragnar smiles to himself. He finds this talk about warfare and strategy engaging, though he keeps his eyes closed to give himself some rest as well as suggest to Lothar that he might trust him enough. Ragnar is still very much on guard though, and his hearing keen. "My people are invaders too, I suppose. Not that it matters here. Has Khadgar not yet faced this leader you speak of? I can hardly imagine a foe greater than his ability. Have you been able to meet them in combat yet? What are their habits? Do they have weaknesses you may exploit? Things they want? Other than, I suppose, land." He sits up. "Have you thought of bargaining with them?"

"You talk too much." Lothar kind of regrets encouraging Khadgar to allow Ragnar the power to communicate with them. He is tired of listening to him talk. "Believe it or not, there are others more powerful than Khadgar. He is not the only magic user here."

Lothar thinks back over the last few months and everything that happened to start this new war. "We've tried joining forces with a few of them, those that sought our help who have seen the true evil their leader has become. They were either discovered or deemed weak, I'm not sure, but we found them slaughtered on the eve of a great battle." He stares down at his hands. He hardly knew these orcs, but to see them intentionally killed and used as warnings to their own kind has never sat well with him.

"Might I see them?" inquires Ragnar. "These orcs, do they have settlements?" The prospect of a people strong enough to withstand the king of this castle, they must be formidable indeed. His fascination glints in his eyes. Ragnar is not at all afraid. "Perhaps Khadgar may give me a vision. Is that magic he can perform?"

"He might be able to. I still do not fully understand his capabilities but I don't doubt he would want to try." Even though Lothar's best friend was a mage, he never really took an interest in Medivh's hobbies. They began drifting apart when his real studies began.

Eagerness pushes back Ragnar's sleep, and soon he has two hands on Lothar's cheek. He smells blood. "You must tell me all about these monsters. Are they Christians?"

It catches Lothar by surprise. Ragnar is oddly gentle, which is not something he expects. He stares back at him almost wide-eyed. "I…do not know. What are Christians?"

"Men who worship only one god," Ragnar says. He groans and pulls back. "You've never heard of Christians? With a kingdom that must be great, judging from the castle alone? Greater than Paris?"

They make an odd pair, with Lothar against the headboard and Ragnar, who can't deny their likeness, still close enough to cup his face. It is not quite like looking into a mirror, for he is taller, his hair and clothing vastly different. Half of a warrior and ready for a fight even now, whereas Lothar is dressed in easy attire.

"Allow me sleep," Ragnar bargains. "Then show me the city. Until Khadgar finds a way back for me, and in exchange for information, I will help you. We could be great allies."

"Paris?" Maybe this communication thing is harder than he thought. Ragnar proves to be an odd one. But he has offered help. Lothar is not sure whether this one man can be the difference in defeating the orcs; still, any help is better than none. That is, if Khadgar can't find a way to send him back soon, though Lothar is sure he could find a way to convince him to delay Ragnar's departure. "We can talk more in the morning. I should be getting back to Khadgar."

Ragnar gives him a knowing look. He reclines on the bed. The sheets, simple and plain, are still a treasure for someone who is not familiar with mattresses such as these. "I will be here."

He makes a gesture that looks like a dismissal. Ragnar keeps his eyes on Lothar until the man is out of the room, then groans and falls back.

He has no way back to his home. He is not going to see his sons for a long time. The accident is not entirely unwelcome, for he has no interest in seeing the shrew that is his wife, and he will not see his best friend again until Ragnar meets his own end. To be here, not home, might not be a bad thing.

He closes his eyes with his thoughts on the monsters of which Lothar speaks, and the magic that Khadgar commands.

There are many things he might learn here.

* * *

Lothar wakes slowly. It is still the hour before the sun rises. The bed is warm and comfortable, and he smiles when he sees Khadgar's back to him. He tightens his arm around the mage's waist, kissing the back of his neck. It has been a long time since he woke up content and happy like this, leisurely instead of like a chore or with a sense of urgency.

Other than finding a way to send Ragnar back and entertaining him till then, they do not have any plans for their guest today. Lothar just hopes the orcs will let them keep it that way.

Khadgar however is not used to a body against his own. He stirs awake, realizes where he is, and his eyes open wide at once. "Is it morning? Oh," he stretches his legs, and threatens to rush out of bed, "I slept all afternoon? But dinner…?"

His stomach rumbles in reply. Khadgar flushes. "Lothar?" he asks. "Did you sleep all afternoon?"

He still can't quite shake the feeling that yesterday was a dream. Though there is definitely an arm wrapped around him, and Khadgar does not think he is still sleeping.

Lothar quickly pulls Khadgar back down, not quite ready for either of them to get up. "I spoke with Ragnar after you fell asleep. I guess all of us were tired yesterday." He kisses his shoulder. Lothar has hardly even noticed them skipping dinner; apparently Khadgar hasn't been the only one exhausted after what they did. "We can have a big breakfast if you'd like."

It is the kiss that makes the other man remember. Not that he forgot–he would never forget–but that it also wasn't a mistake, a one-time thing. The force of that thought pushes everything else to the side. Never mind responsibilities. Not for the thirty minutes to come, at least. He leans back into the embrace and curls against Lothar with perhaps a bit more of a display than needs be.

There is a low, minute pang in his lower regions when he maneuvers himself flush against the warm body in his bed. It isn't painful, but it does make Khadgar smile when he thinks of how that came to be. "Mh, I'm hungry," he mumbles.

The way he lies, with his back facing Lothar, there is no indication for how red Khadgar's face becomes. He keeps his cool. His words are however intended every bit as bad as they sound.

Lothar tries not to groan when Khadgar shifts. Curled against him like he is, he rubs right up into his cock when he moves. He tries not to let it get to him. It is far too early and he knows the both of them are hungry after missing dinner yesterday. Not to mention that they have a guest to watch over. Would Ragnar be awake yet?

"What are you hungry for?" he asks, nuzzling into the back of Khadgar's neck. In the crisp morning air, cuddling into the warmth is addicting.

There is a silence, a waiting that is not fulfilled. Khadgar quite suddenly tastes ash in his mouth. He wants to say it, but only in his wildest imagination does he actually do it. "Breakfast in bed?" he tries, not at all convinced that Lothar will accept the obvious lie. Well, he does want breakfast in bed. Very much, he realizes. But it is not exactly at the top of his priorities.

"Yeah?" Lothar asks. He can't remember the last time he had breakfast in bed, or wanted to spend so much time in it, Khadgar is definitely bringing out a different side of him, one he has not indulged in a long time.

He means to get up and send a guard to fetch them food, but he just does not want to move. Now that he has Khadgar, Lothar doesn't want to let him go. It's a foolish thought, he knows; it is not as if he expects Khadgar to leave the second their private space is broken. But Lothar can be a selfish man.

It begins as light touches against his hand. Khadgar strokes his knuckles with his thumb, almost idly, until he skims over the skin with barely-there contact. It is nice, he finds. Khadgar has not had someone to tell him what is or is not expected in situations such as these, so he goes on trial and error. Neither have complained so far.

Soon though, he pulls Lothar's hand closer against him as his back draws up into a tighter embrace. Khadgar breathes out. He can feel the man against him, clearly interested if the pressure against his lower back is something to go by. "I don't care about breakfast," he says. Or their guest. Or that people expect them to come out of this room at some point.

Lothar grips their joined hands together, liking the feel of them in an embrace. His free hand caresses the skin of his stomach and chest, retracing the path of marks he left behind the night before. He can feel himself getting harder at the chance to have Khadgar again so soon, that he wants him again just as strong as before.

"I want to see you." He whispers, turning Khadgar over to face him. Even in the dim light he can see his hair mussed and his eyes only half awake. To Lothar he is beautiful.

Large eyes look back at him. A pair of parted lips form a smile. Then Khadgar bridges the gap and kisses him, all mouth and hands and legs. He encourages Lothar on top of him effortlessly, and seemingly without his latent insecurity. Because what if yesterday was nice but Lothar changed his mind? What if for some reason Lothar has decided that this is a bad idea?

The bed creaks under them. Knees are raised on both sides of Lothar's hips. Khadgar wants–oh he wants.

Lothar goes where he is pulled, willing to go wherever Khadgar wants him. His mind and body start to wake more as he kisses him, eager to taste him once again.

Until someone knocks on the wall and an unfamiliar language ends anything Khadgar might have hoped for the next half an hour or so. Their moment is shattered

His head falls back against the pillow.

There is a string of undecipherable words. They both sigh, knowing they won't get to continue this for awhile. "Seems like that spell of yours wore off," Lothar gives Khadgar one last kiss before reluctantly get out of bed to get dressed. "Ragnar wishes to see the city today."

"I'll cast it after breakfast," Khadgar says disgruntled, not in the mood for Ragnar pretending like he did nothing wrong over the breakfast table. "Kitchen again? King Llane has yet to formally meet him, and breakfast is not the time to inform him about _that_ mistake."

But he feels bad the moment he says it. "Where are you taking him?" Khadgar asks as he rolls onto his stomach and buries his face in the pillow. Lothar's scent clings to the sheets. It doesn't help to calm him down any.

"I might have to leave him with you at some point to go talk to Llane. It'll be easier without him there at first." Lothar pulls on his clothes, albeit slower than normal as he enjoys the view he gets seeing Khadgar in his bed. He could get use to waking up like this, without the interruption. "I'll take him around Old Town, and then maybe the Trade district. He asked a lot of questions yesterday." He pauses to lean over Khadgar and kiss him along his back, up to his neck and eventually his lips. "I will see about getting us breakfast for in here."

It was not Khadgar's aim, but he appreciates it with a lazy smile, wholly unaware of the show he gives Lothar. "I like you," slips past his lips without thought. When he realises what he has said, he doesn't take it back. It is not a bad time for confessions, here in Lothar's bed after spending the night.

With equal lack of motion, he raises a hand and mutters a few words. His eyes turn white, then blue, and a wave of magic suffuses into the air. Nothing happens for a moment. Then, from the other side of the wall, a voice laughs, "Finally awake, mage?"

Khadgar flushes.

"I should hope so." Lothar smiles at the confession. It's cute, he thinks, how shy Khadgar can be. Especially after last night. "Rest. I'll be back soon." He leaves, stopping by the kitchens to have breakfast brought to the rooms before heading off to find Llane. He figures it is probably best to tell his friend about Ragnar now than later. Especially if Lothar is to take him out around the city.

Khadgar stays on the bed after casting the spell for Ragnar, unsure if he should get up and greet him for the day. He wants to wait for Lothar and their breakfast to arrive, but he doesn't want to be rude to their guest.

He does not have to make the decision, in the end. The walls have ears, as Ragnar's voice calls good-naturedly, "Good morning. Your room is comfortable, stranger, but will you let me out of it soon?"

Khadgar is quiet for a moment, debating if he really wants to get up or if he could just call for Ragnar to come over. But he knows that, either way, he would have to get up and get dressed. "A moment." He calls, pushing himself up slowly. Being in Lothar's room, he doesn't have access to his own clothes and has to settle on his robes from yesterday. Though he does snag one of Lothar's shirts to wear underneath, even if it is too big on him.

Opening his door to find someone else is a strange thing. Khadgar keeps a smile on his face, pointedly ignoring the guard that must have been stationed there for the sake of their unexpected guest. "Did you sleep well? I heard Lothar has plans for today."

"Your bed is warm," says Ragnar. "I slept on top of the sheets, and yet it was difficult to stay asleep." He is glad to be leaving the room at long last. So far his stay has involved getting caught apparently sneaking around the throne room, which was not his intention. Consequently he has been kept in the bedroom of the one who practically kidnapped him to this place; a young man who his unexpectedly charming. "If you must know, I have been up for hours. I took the liberty of reading through your books. I do not think I would understand much of them even if I can hear you now."

Ragnar looks the boy over. "You look smitten," he says without censure. "You won't keep that a secret for long, if that is something you intend to do."

Khadgar isn't all that bothered that Ragnar has gone through his things. Not even Lothar understands his books. "Those are my books for casting spells," he says, then blushes. Khadgar hasn't really considered how he looks in the morning after last night. "Oh, uh…well, breakfast should be here soon," he tries to deflect.

"Breakfast is brought to you?" The man steps aside and offers Khadgar entrance. Which feels strange, regarding that it is Khadgar's room. "I could get used to being here a little longer." In his own world, he has to work for that breakfast. Here it is just handed to him on a silver platter. Literally so.

"Yes…" It takes Khadgar a minute to realize that this might be new to Ragnar. He is so used to his meals being brought to him, going to dinners, or simply conjuring something when he needs. Whatever kind of life Ragnar lives, it must be a hard one.

Ragnar watches Khadgar go about his business. He finds the chair in the corner. At home, there would be so much to do, but here he feels rather useless. Restless. Waiting for one of them to either entertain him or send him back–or lock him up in a room when there is nothing better for him to do than wait. "Tell me about your world," he says at last. "Anything. Things you like about it. Things you don't."

Khadgar chooses to sit on his bed, strangely finding it not as comfortable as Lothar's. "Anything? Well, we've got lots of different races around. Stormwind is mostly human, though. Some dwarves too." He is not sure what he should talk about. Usually, when someone asks him a question, he doesn't know when to stop, but with Ragnar he has no words to speak. "There is lots of traveling. Do you travel a lot?"

"By sea," says Ragnar gladly. "Many far lands have I seen. But," he leans closer, "you speak of dwarves like they are common. You mean they are here? In plain sight? Aboveground?"

"Well the ones we have a good standing with. They have a mountain city to the north that we have connections with." Khadgar wonders just how different their worlds are. Their guest speaks like he is surprised by every little discovery here.

And Ragnar listens with interest to anything Khadgar tells him. The young man is easy to listen to, even though Ragnar can tell that his own presence distracts him. Eventually he realizes why that is. His layers of leather and fur have been too many, and half of them lie discarded because it is too warm he has nothing else to put on. Khadgar too, by the looks of it, must have found a shirt that is too big while Ragnar occupied the room that holds his belongings.

"It would please me if you brought me some clothes while I am here," he suggests with as much politeness and consideration as he can spin around his voice. "In this place I find myself, I am afraid, slightly overdressed."

Khadgar realizes now that the man isn't wearing much at all. He is bigger than Lothar, and much bigger than himself. Maybe he could find something lighter for him to wear. "I can see what Lothar has. I don't think any of my clothes will fit you."

Anything, Ragnar thinks, is better. He follows Khadgar into Lothar's room, ignoring the guard that looks at the pair of them oddly.

They have dwarven cities here. His mind is still reeling from that as he watches Khadgar going through a cabinet with decidedly more clothing than his whole family owns together. No, Ragnar's thoughts are no longer on conquering this strange land. He intends to learn from it. Paris will be at his feet if he can only use a fragment of the vast knowledge of military strategy Stormwind possesses.

As soon as he is handed something, he undresses to try the size. The fabric is soft, dreadfully slippery, and it breathes like a summer weave. Even the leather is more supple than he is used to. The shirt fits a little snugly. It works. "Ah," he remembers belatedly, "a bath?"

Khadgar flushes, trying not to stare while Ragnar changes. He knows that Ragnar is not from their world, and yet he can't help but see the similarities between him and Lothar. He looks to the tub still in the room from when he last conjured it. With a quick spell he cleanses and reheats the water.

Ragnar laughs at the replenishing water. "Is there anything you can't do?" he asks in amazement. Lothar's shirt is taken off again. That is where Ragnar stops. "It shall not take long," he says, and waits for Khadgar to leave before allowing himself to sink into the bath. The water is clean, the heat perfect. And he is ready to soak in it for hours.

But, a man of his word, he is done in minutes. The problem is, there is no towel. Without wanting to call Khadgar, Ragnar looks around. There must be one in a cabinet, and so he gets out and opens the first drawer stark naked, just as Lothar brings in breakfast.

Lothar nearly drops the tray. His eyes are wide as they stare at each other, but Lothar keeps his face as neutral as he can while he sets the tray down and marches over to Khadgar's door.

As he has done many times before, he doesn't knock and just enters. "Why is he naked in my room and you are not?" He asks calmly.

"He is taking a bath," Khadgar says like it is the most obvious thing in the world. He blinks, then his expression takes on a touch of mischief. "As for me not being naked in your room, I am sure we can work on that." His fingers undo the top loop of his tunic's lacing, and he moves to get up and head to Lothar's room.

He will neither undress nor actually go, but he can't help it; Lothar looks adorable when he is mildly possessive like this. In the end, Khadgar reaches forward and encourages him to sit on the bed with him. "Ragnar is just washing up. There is no reason not to have breakfast here. I'm starving."

Lothar watches him. Now that he can look, he doesn't hide how he watches Khadgar move or how his shirt opens to show just a hint of skin. He wants to continue where they left off and forget about Ragnar, who is in his room with their breakfast.

He follows easily when Khadgar sits on the bed. Lothar leans over him, hands on either side of his hips when he speaks. "Seeing as I left the tray in my room, we're going to have to go over there if we wish to eat."

Khadgar can't help it. With Lothar this close, he kisses him. It is becoming rather addicting, he is afraid. "Ragnar!" he calls through the walls as soon as he falls back on the bed so as not to shout Lothar's ears into deafness. "Hurry up, we want to eat."

"Come eat then!" Ragnar laughs back.

Khadgar rolls his eyes. They are going to have to teach the man some manners. "Are you dressed?"

"Come on." Lothar hauls Khadgar up off the bed. He is shocked to a point at seeing Ragnar in his room, but the fact that he's naked is not enough to deter him from eating. He has spent enough time around his troops to be used to the sight of naked men.

Of course it is different when it concerns Khadgar.

Led along by his arm, the mage mumbles, "What if he is getting dressed? If we wait just another minute–" It is odd how Lothar now seems adamant on seeing Ragnar naked. Khadgar is not. He pulls back, his cheeks flushed. "I am not having breakfast with a naked stranger in the room. You go. I'll wait."

Lothar stops to look at Khadgar. They are only going in there to eat. "He's probably already halfway dressed. In my clothes no less," he grumbles. "Look. I'll go check and if everything's fine then will you go in?"

Khadgar agrees–because what else can he do? But he does not know what to make of that obvious confusion. He doesn't usually see people when they're naked. In fact, before Lothar, it had been a long time since he saw anyone without clothes. The environment in which he grew up valued the many mysteries of the arcane above anything else; it was deemed a far more worthy subject than getting students comfortable with their own bodies or around those of others.

He finds a spot against the wall just outside the door and bites his lip.

Of course Lothar does not see it. Lothar would have no trouble being naked around the stranger. More likely than not, they would turn it into a contest of comparison, each of them trying to look better than the other.

Maybe Khadgar should go in after all.

But Ragnar has it covered. He shifts his bare feet from ball to toes, dressed in Lothar's finest leathers. "Perfect," he says. "A bit tight around the shoulders, but that can easily be adapted." The plate with their breakfast is half empty, Lothar entirely unapologetic about that. "I feel much better. Ready to go out. You?"

Lothar tries, he really does, but Ragnar just seems to always get on his nerves with the smallest of things. He scowls, more over the half eaten food than his stolen clothes. "You will have to wait. Khadgar and I still need to eat."

He leaves to fetch Khadgar, taking a few seconds to stand close to him and give him a kiss on the cheek to calm himself down. "He is dressed. Though he's eaten half the food."

"Half of the food?" Ragnar calls. He appears in the hallway, looking to Khadgar like a taller and more savage version of Lothar, now that he is dressed in his clothes, and he appears remarkably confused. "What do you mean, half of the food? That was not all for me? Why would you leave it with me?"

He has wanted to show off his new, snug outfit to Khadgar, but Ragnar refrains from that now. He steps aside to let them in and creates his distance by finding a spot on the ground in the corner of the room. He does not speak, because he feels very well that Lothar's toleration is sinking to a new low. It is not his intention to antagonize him too much.

"Because," Lothar lets out a frustrated huff, "we were going to eat in there and then I was going to bring you your own plate." He eyes Ragnar; he is probably never going to get those clothes back, or if he does, they will be stretched beyond repair.

He tugs Khadgar into the room and sits him on the bed, bringing him the larger plate of food. Lothar can scavenge around the market later when he takes Ragnar out. Though he is less excited now after their disaster of a morning. "Llane wants to meet him later. I think you should be there."

Khadgar agrees easily, "Of course." He feels that he might have to defend his choice to go about summoning someone without first asking for permission, and he would rather do that before anyone else tells the King that a strange man has nearly broken into the throne room. If one of the guards haven't already.

He picks at the bread. After missing dinner, his hunger is ravenous. He missed out on the dessert, too. Khadgar doesn't like to complain though. He smiles with gratitude at Lothar, and then at Ragnar, whom he senses is keeping his distance. Perhaps that is not a bad thing for now. "Thanks for breakfast," he says softly, and bites off a chunk of bread. "I was thinking about heading into the mage quarter today, see if anyone knows anything there. But while he's here, we might as well use the time to figure out if he can help, right? He must know something, for the spell to pick him and bring him here. Train with him? Ask him about strategy?"

"I did want to spar with him at some point. See what he knows." Lothar eats what is left. He thinks it's a good idea that Khadgar wants to go to the mage quarter rather than holing himself up in the library, searching through the endless amounts of books. He finishes breakfast and ignores Ragnar for a moment when he kisses Khadgar, before getting up. "Let's go. The markets should be opening up soon." He motions for Ragnar to follow him. "We'll meet after lunch. Come find us if you find something before then."

He is answered with a pleasant laugh. Khadgar doesn't think a week's worth of investigations might land him anything. "The book I got the spell from wasn't exactly commonplace," he says apologetically. "I'll do what I can." He steals another kiss. It is new, for that to now be an option. He gets to kiss Lothar in the morning. It is mind-blowing, really.

He watches as Lothar takes off, Ragnar in tow. Khadgar doesn't think that will go down smoothly. At all. But as long as nobody dies before sunset, he will try to get at least _something_ that helps.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Demi, you're the best beta and we love you <3

Ragnar does not speak for as long as he is not addressed. He isn't one to sulk either. So while Lothar keeps walking, Ragnar pays attention to the surroundings. His axe is tucked away under his belt, where it is barely visible for passersby. A few of the guards look at him with distrust. He pays them no heed.

But things change as soon they get outside, and the city that spreads out before him turns out not to be anything like any place he could have ever dared dream of. "Where are we?" he asks despite his resolve not to initiate conversations. Oh, Ragnar is in awe. How he wishes he could show his best friend this view. Athelstan would have loved it. But Athelstan—

He cuts himself off. Athelstan will never see this. The only way is for Ragnar to tell him after he dies.

Lothar smirks when he sees his companion's apparent fascination. "This is Stormwind," he says proudly. And proud he is. He loves Stormwind. It is the first time since years that he gets the joy of showing someone new around.

The sun is only just peeking above the horizon, but people are already milling about, setting up their carts and shops. Lothar takes Ragnar down through the courtyard, intent on getting the rest of his breakfast. He could have easily taken the quickest route through the royal kitchens, but that would mean foregoing any interaction with the citizens, and he hasn't taken a stroll through the markets for some time now.

Lothar turns to his guest. "Keep an eye on the sky. You might see something interesting."

"The sky?" Ragnar's eyes shoot up. "You mean to say that everything I see right now is not interesting?" He can't help it. So maybe part of him wants to stay longer, now that he has beheld the city itself, from within its own walls, and without deceit or bloodshed at that. It is a pity that he is here by accident, and might never find his way back to it once Khadgar sends him home.

That is when he catches sight of an enormous bird. It is an eagle, he thinks at first; one of a size that could kill men with its talons if it wants to. But as the distance decreases, Ragnar realizes that to call it an eagle is to grossly cut short the swooping bird of prey with its lion's tail and lion's paws, which would be a harbinger of death to any unfortunate opponent. The creature is a companion only suitable for a god. Ragnar half expects it to be. He is filled with awe.

It has a human rider. These people, he discovers, have mounts that fly. Not even taming the wild seas can appeal to Ragnar as much as this new possibility suddenly does.

"Give me one," he says. "I will trade it against knowledge, or whatever else you need. But allow me to have one."

Very rarely does Lothar get to see such wonder at seeing a gryphon for the first time; only sometimes on the faces of children. They are magnificent creatures. Lothar can't imagine a world without them. "They are gryphons. They belong to the king. Even the one I favor does not belong to me, but I may be able to give you a ride later."

"I will take that," Ragnar accepts at once. He would love to own one of the birds still, but he is starting to feel that this world has much more in store for him than great lion-eagles in the sky. Gryphons. He is quite sure that Lothar would not appreciate a reminder of the fact that Ragnar is a king, too.

He comes up to walk next to Lothar, not bothering to hide his curiosity. "How can your realm have trouble with anything?" he asks. "I cannot imagine anything greater than what I have seen so far. You have magic, and the ability to fly. Forgive me if I am awe, but everything I know from my own world pales in comparison."

That is when they turn a corner and stumble upon the market. And its people.

And Ragnar can't stop following every pointy-eared creature they come across. He does not comment, like he never does when he is still gauging the situation, but oh, he wonders.

Lothar buys an apple off one of the carts they pass. "We have been at peace for years. But then these orcs came through a portal, tainting any land they step on, threatening every living thing. They must be stopped."

The Horde truly is just that. A horde. Whether they succeed in opening another portal or not, there are still too many of them. Lothar wonders if Azeroth will ever be rid them. "I've fought hard against them, but even with the aid of magic they are tough to beat."

"You speak of a portal like the one that brought me here?" That gives Ragnar pause. "What if Khadgar can bring over my people? There aren't many of us, but we have never needed to be. If there is something in it for my people to fight for, they will fight for you. Lands would do. Gold. We could help. I cannot promise you anything until I have seen one of these beasts and talked to my people, but would it be possible?"

"You would have to ask Khadgar." More people to help fight the orcs is something they sorely need, but Lothar isn't worried about the beasts alone. Even if it is possible for Khadgar to bring a large group over, there would be lodgings and supplies to consider. Not to mention dealing with the communication. Ragnar's loyalty.

Lothar doesn't doubt Khadgar's abilities, but he also worries it could be too much for him. He's still young, and he needs his strength to fight.

They make their way through the markets, winding through parts of the city. Lothar doesn't want to overwhelm Ragnar with how big Stormwind actually is. It would take the entire day to tour through everything, but they have other plans. He takes Ragnar back through the barracks, where some of his soldiers are training.

The size of the city is not fully lost on Ragnar, but he is easily distracted by the foreign details. There are things in the market that he can think of no good use for—bowls in all colours and sizes made of brittle stone that would not last a winter—and then once or twice he sees things he knows, like the oars for a boat, but the implementation looks entirely different. The many impressions leave his head spinning.

The barracks are finally a place that Ragnar understands, even if the sheer size and discipline overwhelm him. A grin spreads on his lips. To wield his axe and test this man's strength will ground him. There is nothing but a good fight to make him feel in control again.

"You train here?" he asks. It looks…organised, he realizes. Not a place where men get their hands dirty. Not a place for war. His eyes are soon drawn to the rack of swords. They are all as beautiful as they are deadly. "Can I try?"

Lothar motions to the rack of weapons. He grabs one himself. "I have hoped to spar against you for some time, to see how skilled you are." He takes up his sword and moves to a clearing. Several of the soldiers stop to watch their commander in a duel. "Don't be discouraged if you lose. I am the commander here for a reason."

Ragnar snorts. "Allow me to get a feeling for the weapon first. Of course you will win if you spar against people who do not know their arms."

He finds a sword with a moderate size for himself. From the moment he takes it off the rack, he stands amazed. The weapon is perfectly balanced. The grip, its many ridges appearing uncomfortable before, fits his hand smugly. Ragnar gives it an experimental swing.

He makes sure to appear new to this. The movement is clumsy at best. Some of the soldiers shake their heads, and that is exactly what Ragnar wants. For them to underestimate him. Of course he has held a sword before. Just never one this perfect. He turns to Lothar and holds it up. Nods. "Try me."

Lothar paces, stands still, and charges. He strikes his sword from the right. This will be an easy fight, he figures, but he gives Ragnar a chance to get used to a new weapon. He needs their guest to prove well enough, or his presence is really a waste of time.

It is that charge that tells Ragnar of Lothar's impatience. He is used to circling his enemy first, trying to get a grasp of their balance, their footwork. And he assumed that Lothar was like that too, judging from what he has seen so far. But instead Lothar gives the perfect opening for Ragnar to sidestep even without the sword and pat him on the back.

"You are eager," he grins. "Again. Try and hit me this time."

Lothar eyes him more cautiously. He hadn't expected Ragnar to move so smoothly. Ragnar may be more skilled than he first appeared. Still, he knows nothing of this man's experience, so he pulls moves that he uses on beginners, more aware than usual now of the onlookers.

The man from the other world rolls his eyes. Lothar tests his skill with basic knowledge. "My son has been better than you since he was five," he goads. "Come on, Lothar."

And to show him, he does not hold back as he swings the sword, crouches at the last moment and jerks the blade around to pommel Lothar in the gut.

It is not a heavy blow, but it shows that he means business. Ragnar turns the sword in his hand, grinning. He feels good, for the first time in a long time now. Long before he was dragged here, at least.

Lothar is both startled by the move and by what Ragnar revealed. So he has a son too. Maybe they are not so different after all; a thought that both intrigues and scares him. He tries to clear his thoughts, needing to focus now that Ragnar has proven to be more than capable with a sword.

Lothar swings again, stepping precisely so as to avoid any hits his way.

They finally both reveal what they are. Ragnar does not pretend to mislead unless it can give him a tactical advantage, and neither does Lothar. They turn out to be well-matched. It is no blow to his honor when Ragnar takes a couple of blows; he wipes the blood from his lips and recovers with a more ferocious—more alive—smirk.

Life is simple like this, he thinks. No wife he cannot stand but also cannot leave for the sake of his children; no long lost love he pushed away for someone who now seems an unfair match. No friend he misses so strongly still that he doesn't know what to do with himself. It is just him and the sword.

He doesn't know when his grin turns into a bitter scowl. But at least Lothar does not pity him. "Watch your right foot," he says. "It is a flaw."

Normally Lothar would take any advice given in combat, but with Ragnar it just annoys him. He feels like he is being made a fool of in front of his soldiers. They must think less of him for it.

He scowls, but takes a moment to consider his next move. When he strikes again, he pulls at the last second, using his momentum to crash into Ragnar, throwing both of them to the ground.

The sword falls from Ragnar's hand, too heavy and too cumbersome from him to wield it so that he can keep holding onto it. He groans and looks up at Lothar, his axe caught between his weight and the floor. "Was that truly necessary?" he asks.

It is again frustration he sees on his host's face; frustration that he can't understand, seeing that they both needed the tussle. But it is an emotion he can take advantage of. Lothar cares about the opinion of his onlookers too much.

So one moment Ragnar looks beaten; the next he has wrapped his legs around the other's waist and pulls him closer. All of a sudden it looks rather like they are in the middle of something intimate instead of a fight. Ragnar laughs, panting. "Oh goodness, Lothar. Here? Now?"

Lothar thought he had him beat. A cheap trick if any, it did its job. For a moment, Lothar feels he's won. But then Ragnar pulls him in closer, their groins pressed flush together and there and then, his mind goes blank.

Khadgar had teased of Ragnar joining them before. The thought had not been more than a passing fancy. Until now. His mind is suddenly reeling at how casual and up front Ragnar is of their position. Is it a ploy to get him to admit defeat?

Either way Lothar will have none of it, humiliated as he is in front of his troops. "I think we are done here." he gruffs and untangles himself.

Ragnar's smug grin lasts only for as long as it takes for him to get that Lothar is again annoyed with him. And this time, it sets Ragnar off himself. He scuffles to a standing position, dusts off his clothes—Lothar's clothes, and he is sure the soldiers will have picked up on that—and puts the sword back on the rack without a word.

"That was not to your liking, again," he hisses under his breath as soon as they are both out of the soldiers' hearing range. "I gave you an honest fight. I told you before; if my opponent is stronger, I will be smart instead. But you expected me to be hopeless. You went easy on me like I was a kid who still needed to learn. Do not insult me like that ever again."

Lothar is in an absolutely foul mood now. Just having Ragnar near him now is enough to annoy him. "I was trying to test your skill level. You claim to be a warrior, but I know nothing of you or your world. And you know nothing of ours." He stalks off, ready to to be rid of this man and cool off before taking him to see Llane. "Do not be so cocky. You will get yourself killed by more than just our enemies."

The words cause a shift in Ragnar. From frustrated, he becomes very quiet. Frighteningly quiet. "Is that a threat?" he asks with a low, calm voice. "Are you threatening me as an ally, Anduin Lothar?" For things change if he is. Lothar forgets that Ragnar knows his weakest spot; he also forgets that the only reason Ragnar is still here is because he depends on Khadgar to take him back to his own world.

Ragnar may be in awe about Khadgar's powers, yet he does not fear Lothar similarly. Given the wrong answer, Lothar might come to regret it.

Lothar stops. Ragnar knows how to get on his nerves, to push the buttons just right. He wants, oh he wants to put him in his place. To show him just how dangerous this world can be to a newcomer. But that time will come when it is needed. "Now is not the time to fight. The enemy is out there, not within our own walls." He does his best to stay calm. There is no use fighting someone they may need down the line. So although his pride is hurt, he can be the bigger man and walk away from this.

What he gives is a far cry from an apology. But it is an attempt to pacify the situation. So Ragnar gives him credit for his intent. He stretches out a hand, hoping that the gesture is not unfamiliar to this world. "Then show me your enemy. You know I can fight now. It truly is not in my interest to quarrel with you. Let me make myself useful."

Lothar reluctantly takes his hand as a way to signify peace. That does not mean he can't still hold a grudge. His attitude towards Ragnar had been getting better until this happened, and they are back at square one again.

He takes them both back to the keep, where he needs to find Khadgar not just to lighten his mood but also to ask him to create an image of an orc. "I will not take you out of Stormwind just yet. Khadgar may be able to show you them through visions."

"Visions I can work with," says Ragnar. He follows along, and sees the full height of the castle for the first time upon their approach. "No wonder it is easy to get lost in there," he muses, more to himself. The keep is enormous and impossible; it is beautiful. But though one might see it on his face, Ragnar does not voice his awe to Lothar.

They enter through the front gate. Another gryphon soars overhead. This time Ragnar laughs. It is easier to enjoy the sights as soon as he ignores the sour plum that is his company; if he pretends he is alone, there are such marvels to be found in the city around him.

They wind through halls until they find the library. Before they enter, he checks if there isn't any sand left on the tunic he wears, then straightens his spine.

Lothar tries to ignore Ragnar as much as he can. As much as he does not want to spend time around him right now, he also does not want a repeat of yesterday. To leave him out of his sight is a hazard. "Khadgar," he calls out softly, not wanting to disturb any other people here. Though he finds his way around quite easily now and catches Khadgar in a corner where the mage sits surrounded by books. He wants to greet him with a kiss, but his frustration wins out over his desire. "Can you conjure up an image of an orc?"

Khadgar looks up rather confounded. Lothar is here, with Ragnar in tow, and they both look more agitated than when they left. As if that is possible. "An orc?" he frowns. He has better things to do. He was supposed to go out into town and find out if one of the other mages knew anything. Instead he is here because something else came up, and now he has to solve some sort of quick political matter for King Llane before returning to the real matter at hand. He doesn't have the time. "Now?"

"If you can."

He shuffles out of the library. Visions are no smart things for places of silence. They end up in a small chamber when he sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose, and reaches of a piece of chalk. "Visions," he says, "coming right up." His eyes begin to glow.

The ghost of an orc comes up before them. It shows the orc they had captured before. Brutish and ugly as ever, and standing above all in the room. "That," he points out for Ragnar, "is what we are up against. An orc. There are hundreds of them, possibly thousands." His mood does not improve. Seeing an orc, even just a vision, brings back memories of recent events and opens still fresh wounds.

Ragnar leans closer. He means to touch it, though he does not expect the vision to be corporeal. "Those are orcs?" he asks. They are not what he thought. Ragnar doesn't know what he did imagine; this world has many surprises for him still. "But they can be killed? Or bargained with? Is there something they want?" To defeat them, they will have to be very smart indeed.

"Everything. Their sorcerer brought them here from a dying world. They wish to take this one now, and use our people as a source of energy for their magic." They still don't know much of what Gul'dan is planning now. After the battle at the portal, things have been quiet for the most part. There are still ambushes happening, but with Gul'dan still alive they can't assume peace. "Their race follows power and tradition. We've tried reasoning with a group of them once, they were killed by their own people for that."

"They have strife among each other," Ragnar says. He mulls that over. "Can we exploit that?" He doesn't think he is going home until he has at least felled one of those beasts, and he prefers to survive the ordeal. While he is still safe in this castle, it is easier to think with reason. But what if they come across a number of them in the field? Taken by surprise? The orcs look absolutely brutal.

Sitting back as Khadgar dismisses the image, Ragnar purses his mouth. "Have they got settlements? What do you know about siege?"

"Their numbers are too great." Lothar is good at strategy, and even though it is his duty to protect his people, there is some thrill in fighting and felling an enemy. But these orcs have proven to be a greater challenge than he has ever faced before. "And more are waiting in their home world. What we need is to take out their leader before he can bring the rest of his people here. Stormwind's troops are already dangerously low in numbers. He is the only magic user among them, as far as I know. If he is gone, then the orcs would not have the strength to bring the rest of their horde."

Ragnar ignores the words of ‘horde' and ‘portal'. An image of what must have gone down begins to form in his head. As Khadgar leans his weight against a wall, looking weary but ready to fight as always, Ragnar nods. "The war room," he says. "We should talk strategy."

He will not be able to deal with any sorcerer in a head-on assault. If their sorcerer is like Khadgar, Ragnar will be dead before his battlecry dies out. Which means they need to use the terrain. Or come up with a masterful plan.

"Thank you," he nods to Khadgar with appreciation and a kind smile. "You do a lot without people noticing that you do, don't you? Do not worry about my way back for a few days. Deal with your other concerns first, mage. As long as your castle is not under attack, I can wait a week or two."

"Oh," Khadgar blushes. "Ok." He's still unused to praise but it is nice to hear. In truth he wouldn't mind Ragnar staying a little longer; if only him and Lothar could just get along. He had thought they were doing fine this morning, but something must have happened on their trip around the city. Lothar's bad mood hasn't escaped Khadgar's notice. He will have to ask him about it later.

As much as Lothar didn't want to spend more time around Ragnar, planning to take down the orcs is more important than a personal grudge. He is silent as he takes Khadgar's hand and leads them back to the war room, he wonders to himself if now is a good time to bring Llane into this.

They spend longer than an hour in that room. Half of the time is spent on giving Ragnar a detailed report of the proceedings so far; the other time, Ragnar suggests possibilities and is given reasons why his ideas won't work.

By the end of it, he is exhausted and disappointed. "What I do not get," he murmurs frustratedly, "is how this Gul'dan is invincible and yet he has not conquered all of this world yet." Ragnar doesn't like riddles that have no solutions.

"Manpower," says Khadgar. "That is what we suspect, anyway. He needs lives for his magic. I don't think he can take that from his own without weakening himself."

Ragnar rubs his eyes and stretches his back until his joints crack. "So you focus on fortifying the city for now." And he hates being reduced to defensive action. "Protect the people. Until they reveal a weakness, at least."

"This is new, even for us," Lothar brings in. Nothing is more frustrating for him than an unsolvable solution to dealing with an enemy. They need more resources than they have right now. "We can discuss this further with Llane. For now I think we've spent long enough in this room." It would do them no good to keep talking war plans without their king.

Ragnar can understand that frustration. He is beginning to see where the man's short fuse comes from. And then to be given someone who was supposed to help but is only human, and from a seemingly more savage world at that. "I will return to the room," he says, "if it is fine by you. Your king can find me there, or summon me if he wants to see me outside someone's private chambers."

Ragnar needs to mull this over. Rather, he needs time to process. He is caught in a world beleaguered by near-invincible green monsters with no way out. And there seems to be nothing he can do.

But Khadgar stares at him uncomprehendingly again. When he opens his mouth and speaks, the words no longer make sense. The spell must have worked out then.

Not interested in magic right now, he groans and signals in the direction of the bedroom.

Lothar leans in close to Khadgar. "Let's just go rest for now. It's been a long day. I promise we won't miss dinner this time." As insatiable as he can be around Khadgar, right now he just wants to be close to him.

He leads them all back to their rooms, leaving Ragnar to his own, having had enough of that man for one day, and not enough of his mage. When the door closes, Lothar pulls Khadgar into a hug, sighing and just resting against him.

Arms wrap around him in return slower, but steady once they do. "Rough day?" Khadgar asks. He wants to ask what bothers Lothar about Ragnar, but to bring it up will likely not calm him down. Not, he thinks, that this proximity would have an effect of the like. Lothar's warmth is seeping through clothes and pleasantly envelops him. "I couldn't concentrate in the library today," he admits. "My mind was somewhere else."

"That's a surprise," Lothar teases. Being with Khadgar makes him feel lighter, his mood is lifting already. He closes his eyes, letting the day and thoughts of the orcs leave his mind. "Where was it?"

Khadgar flushes. He would think it obvious. And to admit aloud what he has kept to himself for so long still feels strange. "On you," he whispers rather than says. "King Llane asked me to go to Karazhan soon, to see if we can salvage something to help us. There has been unrest lately. He fears that if we don't make haste, we will be too late. It'll be a few days, and I would have been fine with that before, but now—" Now the thought of a few days away from Lothar is a prospect he'd rather avoid. Khadgar kisses his jaw. "—can we forget about what I just said for a while?"

"And he wants me to stay here." Lothar frowns. He doesn't mind Khadgar going to Karazhan for a few days, even if he won't get to see him. But with him gone, that means that Lothar is going to be left alone more with Ragnar. They are back to square one without the language spell. Khadgar's kiss distracts him for a little while at least. "I can do that." He whispers, leaning in to properly kiss him. He wants to forget in Khadgar, but thoughts of him being gone are still at the back of his mind.

The mage smiles gratefully into the kiss. As long as they don't talk, his actions are easy and eager. Already his arms are draped over Lothar's shoulder, drawing him in. It is still new, and he wants so much. It doesn't take any effort at all to reach the end of the bed and to fall back onto it.

"How about," he suggests, "we frustrate our guest in return for the times he got on your nerves?"

Lothar follows, careful not to trap him. It feels good to be touching Khadgar again, their bodies pressing together. He grins, kissing his love's cheek and then down his neck. "I like the sound of that."


End file.
